Tale  of 
Revolution 


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My  Grandmother. 


THE 


SILVER    BUCKLE 


A  STORY  OF  THE 


BY 

M.  NATALINE  CRUMPTON 


ILLUSTRATIONS   BY  CORNELIA   E.   BEDFORD 


PHILADELPHIA 

HENRY    ALTEMUS 


PRELUDE. 

"  And  what  delights  c-an  equal  those 

That  stir  the  spirit's  inner  deeps, 
When  one  that  loves  but  knows  not,  reaps 
A  truth  from  one  that  loves  and  knows?" 

—Tennyson. 

IT  is  natural  to  take  pleasure  in  recollections  of  the  past,  and 
to  feel  an  interest  in  prophecies  of  the  future.  The  old  man  delights 
in  every  opportunity  to  begin  a  tale,  "  When  I  was  young,"  or  to 
show  his  wisdom  by  foretelling  how  things  will  be  "  twenty  years 
from  now."  The  child  makes  countless  plans  that  begin  with  the 
words,  "  When  I  am  big/'  and  listens  eagerly  to  stories  of  things  that 
happened  long  ago.  This  natural  instinct  is  fostered  and  encouraged 
by  Memory  and  Imagination.  Is  it  any  wonder  that,  in  the  early 
stages  of  civilization,  when  life's  horizon  was  small,  the  history  and 
the  literature  of  a  people  were  preserved  by  tradition  only? 

My  grandmother  was  one  of  those  blessed  persons  who  have  the 
ability  to  tell  interesting  stories  to  the  young.  In  my  early  child 
hood  she  began  with  the  old  nursery  rhymes  and  jingles;  then  she 
advanced  to  fables  and  fairy  tales;  then  came  ballads  of  war  and 
love;  and  lastly,  in  the  dawning  years  of  my  womanhood,  she  told  me 
many  adventures  and  romances  of  real  life. 

All  her  stories  were  of  the  purest  character,  and  were  told 
with  dramatic  fervor,  tone  and  gesture  responding  to  sentiment.  She 
repeated  a  story  for  the  twentieth  time  with  the  same  patient  exact 
ness  that  she  had  shown  at  first,  and  I  listened  with  the  same  in 
spiring  attention.  As  the  years  passed  there  came  a  gentle  tremor 
to  her  tone,  a  slight  hesitation  to  her  speech;  there  was  a  little  effort 

5 


6  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

in  recalling  details,  but  the  interest  of  narrator  and  of  listener  never 
flagged. 

A  favorite  story  was  one  connected  with  her  mother's  youth. 
The  bare  outlines  of  this  were  often  told  me  in  my  childhood,  but 
in  the  later  years  of  my  girlhood  the  story  was  repeated  with  minute 
descriptions  of  place  and  character,  with  timely  comments  and 
appropriate  discussions.  She  had  heard  the  story  from  her  mother 
a  hundred  times,  she  had  been  familiar  with  some  of  the  scenes,  she 
had  known  some  of  the  actors,  and  had  in  her  possession  a  number 
of  their  letters  and  a  few  well-preserved  pages  of  an  old  diary. 

And  to  my  grandmother's  unwritten  story  there  was  one  allur 
ing  illustration,  serving  as  frontispiece  and  finis,  present  to  my  eyes, 
perceptible  to  my  touch, — a  pair  of  silver  buckles.  These  silver 
relics  are  now  mine;  the  hands  that  caressed  them  are  folded,  the 
voice  that  charmed  me  is  silent.  Still  the  recollection  of  the  story 
fascinates  me,  and  I  have  resolved  to  relate  it  to  others.  In  doing 
so  I  shall  find  delight,  and  may  perhaps  give  pleasure. 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE 


CHAPTER  I. 

DOUBT. 

"  The  heart  has  reasons  that  reason  does  not  know." 

— Pascal. 

IT  was  Indian  summer  of  the  year  1774.  In  the  back  parlor  of 
a  plain  two-story  brick  house,  in  the  vicinity  of  Christ  Church,  in  the 
populous  city  of  Philadelphia,  there  sat  two  women. 

They  belonged  to  the  sect  called  in  ruder  speech  "  Quakers/'  but 
known  to  every  cultivated  Philadelphia!!  as  "  Friends."  They  were 
peaceful,  placid-looking  women,  past  the  boundary  of  early  woman 
hood,  but  not  yet  knocking  at  the  portal  of  old  age.  Indeed,  their 
season  was  not  unlike  the  beautiful  Indian  summer,  whose  gracious 
presence  filled  the  place  with  balmy  air  and  mellow  light.  They 
had  come  from  England  in  the  same  ship  more  than  ten  years  ago, 
they  dwelt  near  each  other  and  were  very  intimate,  heart  answering 
unto  heart. 

"  Xow,  Susan,''  said  Rachel  Fuller,  in  a  tone  of  mild  earnestness, 
"  thee  knows  my  perplexity.  I  cannot  see  whether  the  way  is  open 
for  me  to  tell  Hilda  now  or  not." 

Rachel  and  her  visitor,  Susan  Walton,  were  knitting  without 
seeming  to  notice  their  work,  and  with  a  skill  suggestive  of  relaxation 
rather  than  labor. 

"  Well,  Rachel,"  answered  Susan,  "  does  thee  want  to  tell  her?  " 

"  I  must  tell  her  some  time.  Susan:  I  consider  the  affair  a  trust. 
But  T  shrink  from  putting  such  fancies  into  her  head,  so  I  am  trying 
to  think  it  right  to  wait  a  little  longer." 

"Rachel,  why  not  treat  the  matter  differently?  Thee  has  no 
sympathy  with  that  foolish  old  jest,  so  give  the  silver  buckle  to  Hilda 
7 


8  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

as  a  relic  that  belonged  to  her  father,  but  do  not  tell  her  the  story. 
Surely  thee  is  not  bound  to  aid  such  folly;  thee  was  no  party  to  the 
bargain." 

"  Nay,  Susan;  according  to  my  light,  I  am  a  party  to  the  bar 
gain,  though  not  by  intent  or  purpose." 

Susan  laid  her  knitting  down  upon  her  black  silk  apron,  and 
looked  at  Rachel  with  astonishment  and  curiosity. 

"  When  I  wrote  for  Hilda  to  come  from  England,  after  her  moth 
er's  death,  I  asked  that  Miriam's  small  personal  effects  might  be 
sent  also,  promising  to  hold  them  in  trust  for  Hilda  till  she  was  old 
enough  to  have  them.  And,  Susan  Walton,  thee  cannot  think  what 
a  faintness  came  over  me  when  I  unpacked  the  little  sea-chest  and 
found  the  silver  buckle.  I  felt  that  the  true  responsibility  of  the 
trust  included  the  telling  of  the  old  story." 

"  Has  the  buckle  been  a  thorn  in  the  flesh  all  these  years, 
Rachel?" 

"  Xay,  Susan,  I  can  hardly  say  that;  for  during  Hilda's  child 
hood  I  had  no  call  to  think  of  the  matter.  I  always  hoped  that 
when  the  right  time  came  there  would  be  something  to  guide  me; 
but,  as  yet,  I  have  no  clear  light.  Hilda  is  past  seventeen,  thee  knows, 
and  womanly  beyond  her  years." 

The  two  women  sat  silent  for  a  few  moments.  The  afternoon 
was  waning,  but  golden  beams  still  brightened  one  side  of  the  room. 
Above  the  mantel  shelf  hung  a  quaint  sampler  in  a  gilt  frame.  The 
sampler  displayed  a  medley  of  devices, — a  large  peacock,  a  wreath  of 
stars,  a  church,  a  row  of  trees,  an  open  book,  a  harp,  a  castle,  a  motto 
at  top  and  bottom,  and  the  plain  statement  that  "Hilda  Sedgeley 
wrought  this  sampler  in  the  tenth  year  of  her  age."  The  mottoes, 
though  perfectly  familiar,  seemed  quaint  and  startling  because  of 
their  strange  surroundings.  For  above  the  incongruous  devices  were 
the  words:  "  Resist  the  devil,  and  he  will  flee  from  you; "  and  at  the 
lower  margin  was  this  record:  "  Blessed  are  the  pure  in  heart." 

The  upper  part  of  the  sampler  was  now  in  shadow,  but  a  linger 
ing  ray  of  sunshine  still  illumined  the  beatitude.  Susan's  eye  rested 
upon  it,  and  a  new  train  of  thought  was  started. 

The  'sampler  had  been  a  matter  of  discussion  with  her  and 
Rachel  when  the  youthful  artist  was  portraying  the  designs.  Susan 


THE  SILVER  RUCKLE. 


The  two  women  sat  silent  for  a  few  minutes. 


10  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

would  have  had  the  task  of  the  little  needlewoman  guided,  but  Rachel 
had  a  feeling  that  Hilda  ought  to  exercise  her  own  fancy. 

"  The  trouble  is,  Rachel,"  said  Susan,  gently,  "  that  thee  has 
brought  Hilda  up  according  to  thy  sister  Miriam's  views,  not  thine." 

"Rather,  Susan,  I  have  tried  to  teach  Hilda  her  mother's  views 
as  well  as  mine,  and  have  allowed  her  freedom  of  opinion."' 

"  Yea,  Rachel,  I  understand  the  delicacy  of  thy  motives  in  re 
gard  to  Hilda,  but  some  of  the  Friends  have  not  hesitated  to  say 
that  thee  has  lost  a  great  opportunity  by  not  rearing  Hilda  in  strict 
accordance  with  Friends'  principles. '".'£]•.• -know  whit  they  would  advise 
in  this  dilemma.  They  would  think  it  thy  duty  to  ignore  the  past." 

"  Ignore  the  past?  '*•  sai<3  Rachel,  with  a  quiver  of  excitement  in 
her  tone,  "ignore  the  past?  blot  out  my  youth?  forget  the  lovely 
sister  from  whom  I  was  never  absent  one  whole  day  for  more  than 
twenty  years,  and  for  whom  I  still  mourn  in  secret?  Why,  Susan, 
does  thee  know  that  after  all  these  years  I  can  sometimes  feel  against 
my  cheek  the  touch  of  her  sweet  lips?  To  me  she  personified  youth, 
strength,  glowing  affection,  hope, — can  I  ignore  this  vivid  past?" 

Rachel  spoke  with  dramatic  fervor,  and  tears  were  in  her  eyes. 
Such  a  display  of  emotion  was  new  to  Susan.  She  pressed  Rachel's 
hand  affectionately,  saying,  "My  friend.  I  did  not  mean  to  wound 
thee." 

"  T  know  thee.  Susanr  Walton,"  said  Rachel,  smiling  gently.  "  I 
am  ashamed  of  my  weakness:  T  was  shaken  through  every  fibre  of  my 
being." 

"  T  do  believe,  Rachel,  that  troubles  sometimes  arise  which  can 
be  understood  only  by  the  person  who  has  to  meet  them.  In  such 
cases  even  the  most  intimate  friends  cannot  counsel  or  criticise 
fairly." 

"  Truly,  Susan,  it  is  so  now  with  me." 

They  resumed  their  knitting  and  sat  in  silence.  Each  was  wait 
ing  for  a  message  from  the  still,  small  voice  within.  At  last  Susan 
said.  "  Thee  is  so  strongly  impressed  with  the  responsibility  of  this 
trust  that  T  know  thee  will  weigh  the  subject  carefully,  and  thy 
decision  will  be  honest." 

"  Dear  Susan  Walton,"  said  Rachel,  smiling,  "  thy  charity  never 
faileth." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  11 


CHAPTER  II. 

DECISION. 
"  He  that  speaks,  doth  sow." 

THE  sunset  glow  had  entirely  faded  from  the  room  when  Susan 
Walton  took  her  leave.  As  Rachel  closed  the  door  behind  her  friend, 
a  suggestive  voice  from  the  kitchen  announced,  "  I  have  the  tea  under 
way,  please,  ma'am.  It's  ill  waitin'  when  a  meal  is  ready." 

"  Very  well,  Jerusha,"  answered  Rachel,  "  I  will  set  the  table 
right  away.  I  did  not  think  it  was  so  late."  She  returned  to  the 
back  parlor,  which  served  as  sitting-room  and  dining-room. 

"Humph!"  said  Jerusha,  "the  taller  the  clock  in  the  corner, 
the  less  note  taken  of  the  time." 

A  bright  young  girl  now  came  into  the  dining-room.  "  Why, 
Aunt  Rachel,  I  thought  Friend  Susan  was  staying  for  tea  to-night?  " 

"  Xo,  Hilda,  but  her  visit  was  a  little  longer  than  usual/'  said 
Rachel,  while  she  replenished  the  fire  in  the  open  Franklin  stove, 
"  but  we  shall  soon  have  things  ready  for  Jerusha/' 

Thrifty  Rachel  Fuller  always  attended  to  her  own  dining-room. 
Deftly  she  and  Hilda  drew  from  the  corner  the  round  mahogany 
table,  with  the  top  turned  upright  on  a  central  axle;  they  turned  the 
top  to  its  horizontal  position:  they  laid  the  cloth,  lighted  the  bronze 
lamp,  and  put  the  quaint  china  in  place. 

"Here  is  Cousin  Edward."  said  Hilda,  smiling  at  an  elderly, 
gray-haired  gentleman  who  appeared  at  the  threshold.  He  was  a 
childless  widower,  and  for  ten  years  had  made  his  home  with  his  kins 
woman,  Rachel  Fuller.  He  leaned  lightly  upon  a  cane  as  he  entered 
the  room,  and  though  not  really  conveying  the  impression  of  ill 
health,  he  nevertheless  suggested  frailty. 

"Xow.  Hilda,  T  have  caught  thee  and  Cousin  Rachel  napping, 
I  am  sure,"  he  said,  pleasantly. 

"  Xo,  no.  Cousin  Edward,  see, — the  last  dish  is  in  place,  so  thee 


12  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

cannot  yet  say  thee  has  come  home  and  found  the  tea-table  not 
ready."  This  was  an  old  jest  between  them. 

"  Well,  well;  it  is  hard  when  a  man  wants  something  to  growl 
about  and  cannot  find  it." 

"  I  do  not  think  thee  earnestly  desires  to  '  growl/  Edward,"  said 
Rachel.  During  these  remarks  Rachel  took  from  the  corner  closet 
a  delft  teapot,  a  small  tea-chest,  and  a  tiny  pair  of  band-scales.  She 
carefully  weighed  a  frugal  portion  of  tea,  a  luxury  in  those  days.  For 
not  quite  a  year  had  passed  since  the  Boston  Tea  Party,  and  last 
Christmas  the  good  ship  "  Polly,"  bringing  a  cargo  of  tea  to  Phila 
delphia,  had  been  sent  back  to  England  two  hours  after  she  had 
arrived  at  port.  Jerusha  brought  in  the  brass  kettle  of  boiling 
water,  and  the  various  dishes  prepared  for  the  meal,  and  then  the 
small  family  drew  up  to  the  table.  The  impressive,  eloquent  Quaker 
silence  fell  upon  the  group,  each  heart  was  uplifted  for  a  moment. 

When  the  meal  began  Edward  Love  directed  his  remarks  to 
Hilda,  seeing  that  Rachel  was  somewhat  lost  in  thought. 

"  Xow,  Hilda,  tell  us  all  the  events  of  the  afternoon.  Give  us 
a  faithful  chronicle  with  everything  doleful  omitted;  I  will  never  be 
a  party  to  sad  or  disagreeable  table-talk." 

"  Well,  Cousin  Edward,  we  have  finished  my  party  gown,  and  it 
ii=  very  comely.  And  I  am  to  have  a  white  mull  tucker  and  under- 
sleeves." 

"  T  am  glad  for  thee.     Thee  will  look  gay  at  the  wedding." 

Edward  Love  was  one  of  the  "  world's  people,"  but  be  generally 
used  the  Friend's  speech  in  the  household,  as  a  courtesy  to  Rachel. 

"  T  count  on  beginning  my  shell  box  to-night,  if  Richard  brings 
that  new  kind  of  glue  he  promised.  I  sorted  my  shells  to-day,  but. 
oh!  I  broke  one  of  the  prettiest." 

"  Hush,  hush,"  said  Edward,  with  mock  earnestness,  putting  his 
hands  over  his  ears,  "  I  will  not  listen.  Keep  that  till  after  tea." 

Hilda  then  merrily  recounted  some  pranks  of  the  household  pets. 
Fido  and  Fairy,  and  Edward  Love  evinced  the  keenest  interest  in 
every  detail,  as  if  he  bad  never  before  heard  such  wonders. 

"  Thee  may  summon  Jerusha,  Hilda,"  said  Rachel,  when  the 
meal  was  finished. 

Hilda  left  the  room,  but  returned  in  an  instant,  followed  by 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  13 

Jerusha,  Fido  and  Fairy.  Fairy,  a  noble  specimen  of  a  tiger  cat, 
walked  demurely  to  the  fire,  and  stretched  herself  for  a  nap.  Fido, 
a  handsome  black  King  Charles,  frisked  frantically  about,  dividing 
his  attention  between  Edward  and  Hilda. 

"  Jerusha,"  said  Hilda,  with  a  pretense  of  anger,  "  you  are  just 
mean.  You  always  contrive  to  have  Fido's  and  Fairy's  meals  ready 
at  the  time  we  are  eating,  and  it's  all  because  you  hate  to  let  them 
come  into  the  dining-room.  Isn't  it,  Fido?" 

"  Well,"  said  Jerusha,  emphatically,  "  I  say  that  animals  ain't 
got  no  business  in  a  dining-room  when  gentlefolks  is  eatin',  and  I'll 
do  what  I  can  to  live  up  to  my  principles.  If  Miss  Eachel  was  to 
say  to  me  like  this,  '  Jerusha,  let  the  animals  come  in  while  we're  at 
meals,'  it  'ud  be  different;  but  while  she  don't  say  that,  I  stick  to  my 
principles." 

They  all  laughed.  Jerusha  cleared  the  table  vigorously,  and 
Eachel  proceeded  to  wash  the  tiny  cups,  saucers,  and  spoons  in  a 
small  pewter  basin  kept  exclusively  for  this  purpose. 

"  But,  Jerusha,"  persisted  Hilda,  "  some  famous  people  have 
made  companions  of  animals.  Cousin  Edward  has  often  told  me 
about  them.  Why,  even  queens  and  princesses  have  pet  dogs  and 
cats.'' 

•'  0,  1  don't  wonder  at  queens  and  princesses,  because  havin'  no 
kind  o'  reasonable  business  on  hand  they'd  go  crazy  just  listenin'  to 
the  lords  and  princes  savin',  '  Sweet  lady,  your  cheeks  is  like  the 
rose;  fair  princess.,  your  hand  is  like  the  lily.'  But  for  people  that 
have  got  somethin'  to  think  about,  it's  different.  I  wouldn't  be  cold- 
heartod  to  animals  for  anything,  but  they  have  their  place." 

"  Yes,  yes,  Fairy,"  said  Hilda,  picking  up  the  cat  and  dancing 
about  the  room  with  Fido  chasing  after;  "  we  know  Jerusha  is  as 
fond  of  you  as  we  are,  only  she  won't  say  so,  will  she?  And  we  know 
she  likes  Farmer  John  Peters,  onlv  she  grumbles  at  him,  doesn't 
she?" 

A  little  laler  the  "  animals "  settled  down  for  a  nap.  Eachel 
took  her  knitting,  while  Edward  and  Hilda  examined  the  various 
shells  which  were  to  be  fastened  upon  a  work-box  that  Edward  had 
made  for  Hilda.  Edward  Love  was  a  goldsmith,  and  a  repairer  of 
clocks  and  watches,  but  he  was  skilled  in  the  use  of  all  kinds  of  tools. 
2 


14  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

"  Good  evening,  neighbors,"  said  Richard  Thorpe,  a  manly-look 
ing  youth,  who,  a  few  minutes  later,  entered  the  room,  with  the  air 
of  one  at  home.  He  had  been  Hilda's  playmate  in  earlier  years,  and 
was  now  the  familiar  friend  of  the  household.  His  parents  were 
dead,  and  he  had  been  reared  by  Thomas  Greene,  an  apothecary,  to 
whom  he  had  been  apprenticed.  He  still  lived  with  the  Greenes, 
though  he  had  lately  completed  his  apprenticeship. 

"  Good  evening,  Richard  Thorpe,"  said  Rachel,  "  a  chair  is  wait 
ing  for  thee." 

He  sat  down  at  the  table  where  Hilda  was  at  work.  *'  Xow  we'll 
see  how  this  glue  holds  the  shells,"  he  said,  drawing  a  bottle  from 
his  pocket. 

"  I  am  so  glad  you  have  brought  it,"  said  Hilda.  "  The  shells 
are  all  ready,  and  when  I  want  to  begin  anything,  oh!  the  want  goes 
all  through  and  through  me."  She  began  to  arrange  the  shells, 
Richard  superintending. 

"  This  has  been  a  fine  day,  Richard,"  said  Edward  Love. 

"  It  has,  indeed.     Did  you  take  an  afternoon  walk?  " 

"  Truly  I  did.  I  could  not  afford  to  miss  that.  Life  has  more 
in  it  than  merely  sitting  in  a  shop." 

"  I  do  believe,"  said  Hilda,  "  that  Cousin  Edward  keeps  his  clerk 
in  order  to  get  a  chance  for  an  afternoon  walk.  All  the  rest  of  the 
time  I  daresay  the  clerk  stays  up  stairs  with  his  family." 

"  Now  thee  has  found  me  out,  Hilda.  I  let  my  clerk  live  over 
the  shop,  because  I  do  not  need  him  except  when  I  want  to  take  a 
walk.  That's  it,  that's  it.  Well,  during  my  walk,  I  found  two  or 
three  more  pretty  leaves  for  thy  collection." 

"Where?"  asked  Hilda. 

"Thee  knows  the  high  bank  that  I  call  my  terrace?" 

"On  Chestnut  street,  below  Seventh?" 

"  Yes.  As  I  was  sauntering  there,  I  looked  south  toward  Wal 
nut  street  and  saw  that  my  favorite  old  tree  was  quite  bare.  So  I 
looked  in  the  heap  of  leaves  under  it  for  a  stray  beauty.  After  that 
I  turned  my  steps  homeward,  but  when  I  came  near  Christ  Church 
I  heard  the  organist  practicing,  so  I  stepped  in  there  and  had  a  little 
music." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  15 

"As  usual,"  said  Hilda,  with  pretended  scorn.  "  Thee  will  get 
the  name  of  being  the  laziest  man  in  town." 

"  Cousin  Edward  makes  time  at  his  shop,"  said  Rachel,  "  so  he; 
has  some  to  dispose  of." 

•'  Why,  Miss  Rachel,"  said  Richard,  "  thee  is  a  wit." 

"  Thank  thee,  Rachel,"  said  Edward,  "  for  thy  compliment  to; 
my  business  and  my  habits." 

"Well,"  said  Hilda,  "it  is  a  bad  example  to  Richard  Thorpe. 
We  shall  find  him  taking  a  walk  in  business  hours.  Hold  your  finger 
<m  that  corner  shell,  Richard,  while  ]  put  this  in  place." 

The  young  heads  were  very  close  together,  the  hands  touched 
each  other. 

"  I  will  make  a  bargain  with  you,  Hilda.  Whenever  I  take  a 
walk  in  business  hours  I  will  ask  you  to  go  with  me,  and  then  you 
can  lecture  me." 

There  seemed  to  be  a  slight  change  in  Richard's  tone.  Was  it 
not  more  than  usually  earnest?  He  looked  straight  into  Hilda's  eyes, 
and  there  must  have  been  a  subtle  meaning  in  his  glance,  for  Hilda 
looked  down  quickly,  and  said,  with  an  embarrassed  laugh,  "  What 
sport  that  will  be!" 

The  firelight  fell  full  upon  their  faces,  and  Rachel,  who  chanced 
to  be  looking  at  them,  saw  the  meaning  glance  and  the  embarrass 
ment  produced  by  it.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  seen  any  self- 
consciousness  on  Hilda's  part  when  with  Richard,  and  the  discovery 
startled  her.  In  that  moment  she  realized  that  Hilda  and  Richard 
were  children  no  longer.  The  afternoon  conversation  with  Susan 
Walton  had  not  been  really  absent  from  her  mind  all  evening,  but 
now  it  pressed  upon  her  forcibly.  She  said  to  herself,  "  Would  my 
information  disturb  the  present  state  of  things?  Even  if  it  would, 
ought  I  to  withhold  it?" 

"I  don't  intend  to  put  on  any  more  shells  to-night,"  said  Hilda; 
"I've  done  enough.  I'll  make  Fido  play  Dinah."  She  began  a  wild' 
frolic,  which  consisted  in  doing  Fido  up  in  a  red  handkerchief,  and' 
making  him  bow  and  go  through  various  antics  of  carrying  and  fetch 
ing. 

Meantime  Edward  Love  leaned  back  on  the  cushioned  settee,  and 
addressed  Richard. 


1G  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

"'  Well,  Mr.  Twenty-one  Years,  are  you  making  great  plans  for 
•the  future?  Or  are  you  satisfied  to  let  well-enough  alone?  " 

"  I  can  say  '  yes '  to  both  questions,"  answered  Ilichard.  "  I 
have  plans; "  again  he  looked  at  Hilda,  k%  but  I  shall  make  no  change 
at  present,  on  account  of  the  troubled  condition  of  the  country.  Men 
speak  seriously  of  our  future." 

"  You  are  prudent,  Kichard,"  said  Edward.  "  Business  cannot 
fail  to  be  depressed  while  our  public  affairs  are  in  such  bad  shape. 
I  was  hopeful  that  our  Congress  last  month  could  show  us  what  to 
do,  but  I  fear  that  the  end  of  our  trouble  is  still  far  off.'' 

"  God  forbid,"  said  Rachel. 

"Another  reason  why  I  am  glad  you  are  waiting,  Richard/'  con 
tinued  Edward,  "  is  that  the  delay  gives  you  time  to  look  about  you 
before  taking  the  full  responsibility  of  a  shop, — a  little  time  of  free- 
•dom  that  is  very  precious,  an  opportunity  to  choose  ways  and  means 
carefully.  Many  a  man  cripples  himself  by  jumping  suddenly  into 
his  future.  An  opportunity  for  choice  is  a  precious  treasure,  which 
should  not  be  abused  nor  lightly  parted  with/' 

Again  Rachel  felt  a  strange  pang,  as  if  some  hand  pressed  upon 
a  bruise.  Richard  was  preparing  to  go  home,  but  she  scarcely  noticed 
him,  and  said  "  good  night  "  mechanically.  "  Opportunity  for  choice 
.a  precious  treasure?"  she  repeated  to  herself.  "Am  I  depriving  Hilda 
of  her  treasure?  Am  I  doing  wrong?  She  thinks  of  no  other  road 
than  the  one  to  which  her  feet  are  accustomed.  Shall  I  speak  and 
turn  her  girlish  fancy  to  a  different  path?  Edward  speaks  soberly. 
Yea.  yea,  I  will  tell  her." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  17 


CHAPTER  III. 

CONFIDENCES. 

Fond    Memory    brings    the    light 
Of  other  days  around  me." 

— Moore. 


THE  next  morning  was  dull,  and  by  afternoon  a  cold  autumnal 
rain  had  set  in,  which  made  the  house  appear  more  snug  and  attrac 
tive  in  contrast  with  the  great,  uncomfortable  world  outside.  On 
such  a  day  there  seems  so  little  likelihood  of  human  activity  out-doors 
that  one  feels  instinctively  that  if  anything  momentous  is  to  happen 
it  must  arise  within  the  household. 

Rachel  Fuller's  sitting-room  was  cheerful  and  comfortable,  for 
it  had  not  only  a  bright  fire  but  could  boast  of  a  warm  Kidderminster 
carpet.  Rachel's  afternoon  task  was  the  patient  darning  of  a  thin 
place  in  a  linen  tablecloth,  while  Hilda  was  making  for  herself  the 
festive  mull  tucker. 

"  Hilda,"  said  her  aunt,  "  the  way  seems  open  for  me  to  speak 
to  thee  this  afternoon  about  something  on  my  mind.  I  want  to  try 
to  make  thee  understand  why  I,  a  plain  Friend,  with  strong  con 
victions,  have  allowed  thee  privileges  not  in  strict  accordance  with 
the  discipline  of  our  Meeting,  and  have  permitted  thee  to  go  with 
Cousin  Edward  to  worship  at  Christ  Church  instead  of  taking  thee 
with  me." 

Rachel  paused,  and  Hilda  did  not  foci  certain  whether  she  should 
speak  or  not.  Presently  she  said,  "  I  have  gone  to  Meeting  whenever 
thee  has  asked  me,  Aunt  Rachel,  and  T  will  go  oftener  if  thee  wishes."' 

:i  Thee  is  more  than  willing  to  please  me,  child,  but  T  do  not 
wish  thee  to  go  to  the  Meeting  House  when  thy  heart  inclines  thee 
toward  Christ  Church." 

'•'  Thee  has  been  very  good  to  me,  Aunt  Rachel." 

"  I  have  allowed  thee  to  do  what  I  thought  thy  mother  would 
have  thee  do.  Thy  mother  was  different  from  me;  her  ways  were 


IS  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

more  like  those  of  the  world's  people.  Yet  she  was  so  lovable,  so 
winsome,  so  useful,  that  whenever  1  was  moved  to  remonstrate  with 
her  I  was  restrained  by  the  thought  that  perhaps  her  ways  were  as 
good  for  her  as  mine  for  me." 

Again  Rachel  paused,  and  Hilda  had  too  much  delicacy  to  break 
the  silence.  Soon  the  narrative  was  resumed. 

"  Our  mother  was  a  busy  housekeeper;  our  father  a  hard-working 
country  doctor;  both  were  active  in  Friends'  Meeting.  Their  home 
was  well  kept,  their  children  were  well  tended,  they  did  their  duty 
thoroughly  according  to  their  light.  They  were  not  given  to  demon 
strative  affection,  but  Miriam  was  full  of  life  and  impulse.  She  made 
no  effort  to  restrain  her  emotions;  she  laughed  and  sang  when  she 
was  merry;  she  cried  when  she  was  sad;  she  twined  flowers  in  her  hair 
and  made  necklaces  of  dried  berries.  Though  she  was  seven  years 
younger,  she  was  my  constant  companion.  Hilda,  thee  has  never 
known  a  sister's  love,  so  thee  cannot  tell  the  sweetness  thee  has 
missed." 

Rachel  ceased  to  speak,  for  her  mind  was  busy  exploring  the  holy 
land  of  youth;  its  rugged  places  were  softened  by  the  distance,  its 
beauties  were  intensified  by  the  sorrows  and  loneliness  of  later  years. 

"  Soon  after  our  mother's  death,"  she  continued,  "  Miriam  went 
into  Surrey  for  a  visit,  and  that  was  our  first  separation.  There  she 
met  Herbert  Sedgeley,  a  young  minister  of  the  world's  people,  and 
they  were  drawn  toward  each  other. 

"  Tie  came  afterward  to  our  house,  and  a  year  later  he  and  my 
beautiful  Miriam  were  married  in  the  village  church.  Father  never 
favored  the  marriage,  but  he  would  not  forbid  it,  though  he  was  not 
at  the  wedding,  as  he  would  not  countenance  what  he  could  not 
approve.  I  was  there,  but  my  heart  was  sad.  I  realized  the  extent 
of  our  separation.  Her  life  was  to  be  among  new  scenes;  she  was  no 
longer  connected  with  Meeting,  and  the  old  familiar  intercourse  would 
cease.  Thy  lather  was  a  noble  man,  and  Miriam  was  happy  with 
him.  T  took  comfort  in  that  thought,  but  from  the  day  of  that  mar 
riage  my  heart  was  lonely.  Dear  Miriam!  Had  she  been  any  less 
good,  less  lovable,  her  ways  might  have  provoked  resistance:  but 
somehow  her  life  taught  me  that  we  might  both  be  traveling  the 
same  road  though  clad  in  different  kinds  of  raiment." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  19 

"  My  sweet  mother,*'  murmured  Hilda. 

"  Father  died  two  years  alter  Miriam's  marriage;  then  I  made 
her  a  long  visit,  and  then  came  our  final  parting,  for  I  had  decided 
to  come  to  this  country.  Five  years  afterward  thee  came.  Hilda, 
fatherless  and  motherless,  to  live  with  me.  And  it  is  for  thy  father's 
sake  and  thy  mother's  sake  that  I  have  not  trained  thee  closely  in 
Friends'  doctrine,  and  I  can  only  pray  that  my  laxity  may  not  be  to 
thy  hurt." 

Hilda  threw  her  arms  around  her  aunt's  neck.  "Dear  Aunt 
Kachd,  1  can  never  repay  thee  for  thy  goodness  to  me,  but  I  will 
try  to  show  thee  that  thy  methods  have  not  hurt  me." 

Hat-hel  stroked  the  fair  young  head  which  rested  upon  her  shoul 
der,  and  no  words  were  needed.  After  a  time  Hilda  broke  the  silence. 

"Aunt  Rachel,  please  tell  me  something  about  Cousin  Edward's 
early  life."' 

"  1  know  little  to  tell  thee,  child.  I  did  not  know  him  when 
he  was  young;  his  home  was  in  London.  He  married  early,  but  I 
believe  his  marriage  was  a  disappointment  to  him.  At  any  rate  it 
saddened  him.  When  he  decided  to  come  to  this  country  his  wife 
said  that  she  would  go  to  her  own  home,  near  London,  till  he  had 
established  himself  here.  After  he  had  been  a  few  weeks  in  Phila 
delphia  he  sent  for  her,  but  she  made  some  excuse  for  delay,  and  a 
short  time  after  that  she  died  suddenly." 

'l  Did  thee  know  he  was  in  Philadelphia  when  thee  came?  " 

"  0,  yes,  and  when  T  came  I  hunted  him  up.  Afterward,  when 
I  wanted  to  make  a  home  for  thee,  Hilda,  I  took  this  house  and  made 
a  home  for  Cousin  Fdward  also." 

Hilda  sat  lost  in  thought;  her  quick  imagination  filled  in  and 
colored  the  outlines  of  the  pictures  that  had  been  presented  to  her. 
The  rain  came  down  faster  than  ever,  the  wind  fairly  shook  the 
house.  After  a  time  Rachel  spoke  again. 

"  T  lately  gave  thee,  Hilda,  the  things  that  belonged  to  thy 
mother,  but  T  still  have  one  trinket  which  I  will  give  thee  to-day  with 
a  parchment  explaining  it.  I  could  not  see  my  way  to  give  it  to  thee 
before.  Yet  I  know  thy  father  and  mother  intended  thee  to  have 
this  trinket,  so  I  will  not  keep  it  from  thee  any  longer.  It  belonged 
to  tbv  father's  sister." 


20  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

Hilda  was  so  astonished  that  she  could  not  speak,  while  her  aunt 
went  into  the  parlor  and  took  a  small  box  from  the  great  mahogany 
chest  of  drawers  which  filled  one  recess  of  the  room. 

"  The  trinket,  being  silver,  was  much  tarnished,"  she  said,  "  but 
yesterday  I  asked  Cousin  Edward  to  polish  it,  so  it  is  looking  its  best. 
I  did  not  tell  him  the  story,  so  thee  may  take  thy  choice  of  telling 
him  or  not." 

Hilda  took  the  box.  "I  am  going  up  stairs,  Aunt  Rachel,  to 
look  at  it  by  myself,"  she  said. 

"  Very  well,  child,  suit  thyself,"  said  Rachel,  gently. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

THE  BUCKLE. 
"  Brave,   faithful,   happy." 

HILDA  SEDGELEY,  alone  up  stairs,  opened  the  box  without  a 
moment's  delay.  In  one  side  of  it  was  a  roll  of  parchment,  narrow, 
but  very  long,  and  wrapped  in  soft  linen  was  a  beautiful  silver  buckle. 
The  buckle  was  a  little  more  than  two  inches  long,  oval  in  shape, 
covered  with  delicate  tracery  of  ivy  and  oak  leaves  clustered  around 
an  unfinished  motto  consisting  of  two  words  and  a  dash,  also  the 
date,  16GO. 

The  parchment  had  at  the  upper  left-hand  corner  the  word  copy, 
and  read  as  follows: 

When  the  Merrie  Foxes  did  holde  their  laste  mete — that  is  to 
say  on  the  first  Monday  even  of  November,  1660 — at  the  Lion, 
a  Devyce  was  planned  as  a  pleasaunt  jeste.  The  sayd  Devyce  it 
has  been  carryed  out  so  far  as  it  can  go  at  presente.  And 
therefore  1  have  this  day  bestowed  upon  my  eldest  Daughter  a 
Silver  Buckle.  Which  Buckle  it  was  wroughte  by  the  beste 
Silver-smith  of  London,  at  the  coste  of  the  Merrie  Foxes.  This 
is  the  Pleasure  of  the  Merrie  Foxes  concerning  the  Buckle. 
My  Daughter  is  to  have  it  in  possession  until  she  does  take  unto 
herself  a  husbande.  On  this  occasion  she  is  to  give  the  Buckle 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  21 

to  the  eldest  unmarried  Daughter  of  the  next  of  kin,  who  is  to 
holde  and  transmit  it  in  the  same  way,  at  the  tyme  of  her 
marriage.  Should  the  holder  of  the  Buckle  remain  a  Spinster, 
at  her  Death  it  is  to  be  transmitted  in  the  same  manner  as  if  she 
had  married.  The  holder  of  the  Buckle  shall  not  lende  it,  and 
she  shall  not  permit  a  copy  of  it  to  be  made.  If  she  should  dis 
regard  these  Commandes,  she  may  look  for  annoyance  all  the 
reste  of  her  Life. 

A  Companion  Buckle  it  was  wroughte  at  the  same  tyme,  and  is 
to  be  transmitted  in  a  Similar  Mannere  through  the  eldest  un 
married  Son  of  one  of  the  Merrie  Foxes.  It  is  a  fancie  of  the 
Merrie  Foxes  that  the  holders  of  the  two  Buckles  may  one  day 
mete  and  perchance  be  United.  But  the  Holder  of  this  Buckle 
she  shall  not  be  debarred  from  a  different  Marriage,  and  shall  in 
no  Way  consider  herself  bounde  to  defer  Marriage  in  the  Hope 
of  gratifying  the  fancie  of  the  Merrie  Foxes. 

The  Companion  Buckle  it  is  an  exact  Counterparte  of  this,  save 
that  it  does  bear  the  final  word  of  the  Legende  that  was 
chuzed,  sayd  final  word  being,  "  Felix."  If  the  holders  of  the 
Buckles  shall  in  future  be  betrothed,  then  the  Buckles  they  shall 
be  exchanged  as  a  Token;  the  Maiden  shall  receive  the  Buckle 
bearing  the  inscription  "  Felix,"  and  shall  give  to  her  Lover  this 
one  bearing  the  words,  "Fortis,  Fidelis,"  the  entire  legende  being, 
"  Fortis,  Fidelis,  Felix,"  meaning,  "  Brave,  Faithful,  Happy." 
(Signed)  ROBERT  CHADDOCK  SEDGELEY, 

(A  Merrie  Fox.) 
Yule-tide,  1660. 

Hilda  trembled  with  excitement  as  she  laid  down  the  parchment 
and  looked  once  more  at  the  buckle.  Every  heart  worthy  the  name 
of  human  contains  a  susceptibility  to  romance.  It  may  be  easily  and 
often  aroused,  or  it  may  remain  long  unresponsive,  waiting  for  the 
supreme  touch  of  one  irresistible  hand;  but  when  this  susceptibility 
is  aroused  the  heart  quivers  with  innumerable  electric  impulses, 
which  more  or  less  affect  the  whole  being. 

So  Hilda  was  transformed  by  the  silver  buckle.  Hitherto  she 
had  taken  no  thought  for  the  morrow;  she  enjoyed  the  good  things  of 
life  without  question  as  to  how  they  might  have  been  improved;  if  a 
bright  day  came  she  accepted  it  with  a  spring  of  joy  in  her  heart;  if 
a  dark  day,  she  bore  it  as  a  thing  to  be  expected.  She  enjoyed  the 
companionship  of  Richard  Thorpe  much  the  same  way  as  that  of  her 
aunt  Rachel  and  her  cousin  Edward;  it  was  part  of  her  happy  life, 


22  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

and  she  had  no  thought  of  a  possible  change.  Now,  however,  a 
future  seemed  open  to  her.  Some  novelty  was  to  come  into  her  life, 
bringing  with  it  a  pleasant  zest.  Somewhere  there  was  a  youth, 
"brave,  faithful,"  no  doubt,  looking  for  her,  and  she  might  make 
him  "  happy."  With  the  undaunted  confidence  of  youth  she  said 
to  herself,  "  I  shall  find  the  companion  buckle." 

She  took  from  a  drawer  a  precious  miniature  of  her  beautiful 
young  mother,  and  then  looked  long  and  critically  at  the  reflection 
of  her  own  face  in  the  mirror.  Her  face  had  a  new  interest,  for  she 
had  in  the  last  few  moments  passed  a  landmark  of  her  life  and  turned 
into  a  strange  road. 

With  a  sudden  impulse  she  took  from  a  small  chest  some  fancy 
garments,  given  to  her  a  few  weeks  before.  Deftly  she  proceeded  to 
array  herself  in  a  pink  gown,  a  pink  mantle,  and  a  coquettish  pink 
bonnet.  "I'll  surprise  Aunt  Rachel,"  she  said  to  herself,  "by  ap 
pearing  before  her  suddenly  in  my  mother's  clothes." 


Rachel  Fuller  down  stairs  sat  doing  nothing.  She  was  wont 
to  allow  herself  a  little  rest  at  twilight,  when  the  duties  of  the  day 
were  over  and  those  of  the  evening  had  not  begun.  She  regarded  the 
twilight  as  a  little  halting-place  between  the  day  and  night,  when  it 
is  good  to  stop  and  lay  one's  burdens  down.  She  sat  idle,  her  mind 
working  in  that  half  active,  half  listless  way  peculiar  to  some  natures 
at  such  moments.  Shadowy  forms  gathered  round  her;  voices  long 
silent  whispered  to  her;  pictures  long  ago  destroyed  again  presented 
themselves,  their  outlines  perfect  as  at  first,  their  colors  as  bright. 
And  from  those  bygone  years  even  one  of  the  old  baffling  questions 
returned:  "  Why  are  the  lives  that  seem  most  necessary  to  each  other 
so  often  separated?  the  hearts  that  are  mutually  responsive  placed 
so  far  apart?"  The  loss  of  her  sister  had  left  a  hunger  which  had 
never  been  appeased,  a  thirst  which  had  never  been  slaked,  though 
her  life  was  one  of  usefulness  and  apparent  content  and  cheerfulness. 

A  gleam  of  light  attracted  her  attention  to  the  window.  The 
sun,  after  a  fierce  struggle  Avith  the  storm,  had  triumphed,  and  was 
proclaiming  his  victory  in  a  flourish  of  sunset  splendor.  As  Rachel 
looked  at  this  promise  of  a  bright  morrow  she  had  a  vague,  home- 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 


24  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

sick  feeling  that  on  life's  horizon  there  are  some  clouds  which  never 
yield  to  sunlight;  though  they  may  not  always  obtrude  themselves 
amidst  the  splendor,  they  are  there  nevertheless.  She  murmured 
half  aloud,  "  Two  women  shall  be — " 

She  was  interrupted  by  a  vision  that  made  her  heart  stand  still, 
made  her  catch  her  breath,  made  her  rise  from  her  chair,  made  her 
take  one  step  forward  and  then  stand  still  again,  with  parted  lips  and 
astonished  eyes.  "  Miriam,"  she  faintly  uttered  to  the  fair  young 
girl  in  pink  garments. 

Hilda,  more  than  satisfied  with  her  device,  and  frightened  be 
cause  she  saw  for  the  first  time  her  aunt  Eachel  frightened,  ran  for 
ward  and  threw  her  arms  around  her  aunt's  neck.  Kachel  folded  her 
in  a  strong  embrace,  and  in  a  quivering  voice  gave  utterance  to  the 
unfinished  thought  of  a  moment  before:  "  Two  women  shall  be  grind 
ing  together,  the  one  shall  be  taken,  and  the  other  left." 


CHAPTER  V. 

HOPES  AND  FEARS. 

"Life?   Tis   the   story   of   love   and   of   troubles, 
Of  troubles  and  love,  that  travel  together 
The  round  world  through." 

—Joaquin  Miller. 

JERUSHA  LIGHTFOOT  was  scrubbing  and  scouring  in  the  kitchen,, 
and  ever  and  anon  singing,  to  tunes  of  her  own  composing,  scraps  of 
old  songs.  Jerusha  honestly  thought  she  knew  how  to  sing,  and 
cared  not  whether  others  gave  her  credit  for  her  ability  or  not. 
"  Sure  a  body  who  can  remember  the  words  of  a  song  has  no  trouble 
to  put  a  tune  to  'em,  and  it's  company  while  you  work,"  was  her 
musical  theory.  She  had  a  habit  of  talking  about  her  work  in  a 
half  audible  tone  between  the  lines  of  her  song,  so  that  a  chance  lis 
tener  had  the  benefit  not  only  of  the  quotations,  but  of  the  soliloquies 
also. 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  25 

"  My  gown  was  made  of  the  finest  silk, 

And  flounced  right  down   to  the  ground"; 

she  sang,  as  she  began  a  vigorous  attack  with  a  scrubbing-brush  upon 
the  window  frame.  "  'Tis  a  rare  chance  for  cleanin'/'  she  muttered, 
"  to  have  a  day  as  mild  as  this  in  December."  Then  the  song  began 
again: 

"  The  girdle  that  I  wore  round  my  waist," 

There  was  a  brief  silence,  save  for  the  sound  of  the  brush,  then 
the  soliloquy  was  resumed.  "  Some  slatterns  won't  take  the  hint, 
of  course;  they  don't  seem  to  know  that  when  a  real  fine  day  comes 
it's  the  Lord's  way  o'  sayin':  '  Clean  up,  put  things  in  order,  make 
your  house  shine.' ':  She  finished  the  first  stanza  of  her  song: 

"  Was   sell't   for  a   hundred   pounds." 

Again  she  scrubbed  complacently.  "  This  last  soap  is  the  best 
I  ever  made, — glad  I  made  a  lot  of  it,"  she  said.  Then  the  song  was 
resumed : 

"  My    stockings   were   made    from    the    softest   woo', 
And  gartered  aboon  the  knee." 

Suddenly  she  paused  in  her  work,  and  the  song  changed  to 
soliloquy.  "Mercy  on  my  heart!  I  laid  out  to  polish  them  big 
brass  candlesticks  on  the  dining-room  mantel  when  I  was  scouring 
the  pans  and  porringers,  and  I  perfectly  forgot  'em."  Her  vexation 
soon  subsided,  and  the  scrubbing  and  the  song  went  on. 

"My  shoes  were  made  of  the  Spanish  black, 
And  they  buckled  right  merrily." 

Again  her  mind  turned  to  the  candlesticks.     "  Well,  I'll  do  'em 

O 

this  afternoon,  that's  sure." 

"Xow,  Jerusha  Lightfoot,"  said  a  merry  voice  from  the  hall 
doorway,  "here  I've  been  standing  for  five  minutes,  and  you  have 
made  believe  not  to  see  me,  but  you  meant  that  song  for  me,  I 
know." 

"  Hilda  Sedgeley,  I  didn't  have  an  idea  you  was  there,  but  if  you 
choose  to  take  it  to  yourself  you're  welcome." 


26  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

Jerusha  always  spoke  in  a  clear,  strong,  matter-of-fact  tone — not 
unpleasant,  not  cross,  yet  with  no  suggestion  of  mirth  or  humor. 

a  Well,  Jerusha,  I'm  dressed  for  the  wedding,  and  before  I  put 
on  my  cloak  I  want  you  to  see  me.  How  do  I  look?  " 

Hilda  was  clad  in  the  new  gown  of  pale  brown  silk  over  a  skirt 
of  brown  quilted  satin;  the  white  mull  tucker  was  gathered  coyly 
at  her  neck,  and  white  mull  undersleeves  lent  daintiness  to  her  wrists. 
And  in  a  breastknot  of  blue  ribbon  was  the  silver  buckle. 

Jerusha  glanced  quickly  at  her — quickly  but  comprehensively,  not 
superficially.  There  is  as  much  difference  in  glances  as  in  caresses. 
Jerusha's  glance  was,  as  her  work,  thorough. 

"  Well,  I  don't  think  you  could  look  any  better,"  she  said,  de 
cidedly.  To  some  persons  this  might  have  seemed  rather  an  ambig 
uous  compliment;  but  Hilda  was  satisfied,  for  she  understood  it. 
Jerusha,  scrubbing  energetically  as  before,  began  a  new  song. 

"  Quoth  John  to  Joan,  wilt  thou  have  me? 

I  prithee  now,  wilt?    And  I'se  marry  with  thee," — 

"  Why  is  it,  Jerusha,"  interrupted  Hilda,  "  that  you  always  sing 
love  songs?  Are  all  songs  about  love?  " 

Jurusha  actually  stopped  scrubbing,  so  oppressed  was  her  brain 
by  this  unexpected,  perplexing  question. 

"  I  can't  say  whether  or  no  they're  all  about  love,"  she  answered, 
"  but  all  T  ever  heard  was  about  love.  Mayhap  it's  only  when  a  body's 
in  love  that  he's  got  idleness  enough  to  make  songs." 

"And  then  busy  people  like  you  sing  them,"  said  Hilda.  "  Go 
on,  Jerusha,  finish  it." 

"  My  cow,  my  calf,  my  house,  my  rents, 

And  all  my  lands  and  tenements: 
0  say,  my  Joan,  say,  my  Joan,  will  not  that  do? 
I  cannot  come  every  day  to  woo." 

Here  the  back  door  opened,  and  a  big,  burly,  ruddy-faced  man 
looked  in  and  nodded. 

"  0,  good  day,  Farmer  John,"  said  Hilda,  "  you  are  just  in  time 
to  see  my  new  gown.  I  am  going  to  a  wedding.  Cassie  Armstrong 
and  Joe  Lake  are  to  be  married  this  morning,  and  after  that  there'll 
be  a  new  house  to  buy  marketing." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 


"  How  do  I  look?  " 


28  TEE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

"  I  know  it.  I  wish  them  good  luck/'  he  said,  but  in  a  tone  so 
ferocious  that  the  wish  sounded  like  a  malediction.  He  always  spoke 
fiercely,  giving  the  impression  that  he  was  ready  to  knock  someone 
down.  His  most  ordinary  remarks  were  uttered  in  a  roar,  yet  no 
one  had  ever  seen  him  in  a  passion.  Probably  the  passion  in  his 
nature  vented  itself  regularly  in  his  daily  conversation,  instead  of 
reserving  its  strength  to  burst  out  with  overwhelming  force  at  some 
extreme  provocation.  He  lived  on  his  own  farm,  about  six  miles  dis 
tant,  and  his  sole  companion  at  home  was  a  hired  man,  who  assisted 
him  not  only  with  the  farm,  but  with  the  housework  also. 

"  I  went  to  parties,  too,"  he  continued,  "  in  my  youth,  but  now 
I've  got  better  sense,  and  I  stay  at  home  where  I  can  have  comfort  and 
enjoy  myself." 

"Poor  enjoyment  livin'  in  the  country,"  said  Jerusha.  "Of 
course,  some  folks  must  live  in  the  country,  else  there'd  be  no  farms; 
but  it  don't  seem  right  to  pretend  to  like  livin'  in  the  country.  It 
would  be  more  right  to  say,  '  I'm  resigned  to  livin'  in  the  country 
because  I  can't  help  myself.'  r 

"  0,  Jerusha,"  said  Hilda,  "if  you  had  gone  to  Farmer  John's 
that  day  last  October  when  we  had  the  nutting  party,  you  would  have 
seen  beautiful  country. 

"  Folks  won't  never  see  what  they  don't  want  to  see,"  roared 
John,  looking  meaningly  at  Jerusha.  "  I'll  give  a  May  Day  next 
spring,  and  I  bid  you  all  to  it,  the  whole  house,  and  I'll  take  it  ill  if 
you  don't  come." 

"  The  country's  well  enough  to  visit,"  said  Jerusha. 

"  You'd  find  it  better  enough  to  live  in,"  retorted  John,  "  if 
you'd  try  it.  A  workin',  singin'  body  like  you.  who  don't  fret  to 
run  and  clatter  from  door  to  door,  would  find  great  room  in  the 
country." 

Hilda  looked  with  amusement  from  one  of  these  odd  characters 
to  the  other,  and  wondered  whether  any  other  lover  had  ever  spoken 
with  such  apparent  ferocity  as  John,  to  such  a  discouraging  listener 
as  Jerusha. 

John  was  holding  in  his  hand  three  fine  apples,  which  lie  now 
displayed  freely,  for  Rachel  Fuller,  cloaked  and  bonneted,  appeared 
at  the  hall  door.  John  waved  the  apples  toward  her  and  yelled, 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  29 

"  You  may  take  'em  or  not,  just  as  you  like,  but  ye'll  not  get  finer 
ones  this  winter.  I'm  sold  out  at  market  and  am  on  my  way  home, 
but  ye  might  be  wantin'  to  order  me  to  bring  a  bar'l  of  'em  before 
the  roads  get  bad;  price  same  as  before.  I'll  bring  'em  the  next  day 
I  come.  You  can  do  as  ye've  a  mind,  of  course." 

"  Well,  John,  thee  may  bring  a  barrel  of  these  apples,  but  not 
the  next  day  thee  comes  in,  that  will  be  Fourth-day — I  shall  not  be 
ready  for  them  then — but  suppose  we  say  next  Seventh-day?" 

"  With  these  Fourth-days  and  Seventh-days  I'm  turned  about," 
said  John,  "  and  the  apples  may  not  get  here  at  the  right  time,  but 
no  blame  to  me." 

"  Suppose  thee  counts  on  thy  fingers,  John  Peters,"  said  Rachel; 
"  thee  knows  what  the  First  day  of  the  week  is,  surely." 

"  In  the  country  it  must  be  hard  to  tell  one  day  from  another/* 
interposed  Jerusha,  with  aggravating  calmness. 

Rachel  saved  John  the  necessity  of  a  reply  by  saying  to  Hilda, 
"Had  thee  not  better  get  thy  cloak?  And  don't  forget  thy  pattens, 
for  the  ground  is  damp.  Jerusha,  thee  will  have  a  good  afternoon  to 
thyself." 

"  She  can  have  these  apples  for  company,"  said  John,  laying 
them  upon  the  table,  "  they  grew  in  the  country." 

With  another  tremendous  nod  he  departed.  Rachel  and  Hilda 
laughed  as  they  left  the  room,  while  Jerusha  continued  her  labors 
and  resumed  her  song. 

"  I  have  a  cheese  upon  the  shelf, 

And  I  cannot  eat  it  all  myself; 
I've  three  good  marks  that  lie  in  a  rag, 

In  the  nook  of  the  chimney,  instead  of  a  bag." 


A  few  minutes  later  Hilda  was  seated  with  her  aunt  Rachel  on 
one  of  the  benches  in  the  large  Meeting  House  at  Second  and  High 
streets.  Her  most  intimate  girl  friend,  Cassie  Armstrong,  was  to  be 
married  at  the  close  of  the  regular  meeting  to  Josiah  Lake.  Both 
families  were  well  knowrn  to  the  community.  The  Committee  of 
Friends  had  sanctioned  the  engagement,  and  Cassie's  mother  had 
said,  "  If  I  could  have  chosen  for  Cassie  I  would  not  have  chosen  any 
3 


30  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

youth  but  Josiah  Lake."  So,  under  the  reasonable  prospect  of  Cas- 
sie's  future  happiness,  and  the  agreeable  certainty  of  an  afternoon's 
feast  of  good  things  at  the  hospitable  home  of  Cassie's  mother,  an 
air  of  general  satisfaction  rested  upon  the  assembly  in  the  Meeting 
House. 

A  few  "  world's  people  "  were  present,  others  intended  to  call 
during  the  afternoon  to  pay  their  respects  to  the  young  couple. 
When  Hilda  was  among  the  Friends  she  never  felt  that  she  was  one 
of  the  "  world's  people,"  and  when  she  was  with  her  Cousin  Edward 
at  Christ  Church  she  never  felt  that  she  was  a  Friend. 

She  looked  across  the  center  aisle  of  the  Meeting  House,  and 
saw  Richard  Thorpe.  He  was  looking  at  her  and  they  smiled  at  each 
other.  Seated  together  on  the  front  benches  were  the  family  groups 
of  Lakes  and  Armstrongs — Jo  and  Cassie  side  by  side. 

It  was  some  time  before  any  one  was  moved  by  the  Spirit.  At 
last  Margaret  Gray,  a  small,  delicate-looking  old  lady,  untying  her 
bonnet  and  laying  it  on  the  bench  beside  her,  rose,  and  spoke  with 
touching  simplicity  and  eloquence  about  "  the  peace  of  God  which 
passeth  understanding."  When  she  had  finished,  Caleb  Lukens,  a 
tall,  spare,  middle-aged  man,  with  a  high,  quavering  voice,  prayed 
long  and  earnestly. 

A  brief  silence  fell  upon  the  meeting.  At  last  Josiah  Lake  and 
Cassie  Armstrong  rose.  Cassie  had  laid  aside  her  long  cloak  after 
entering  the  Meeting  House,  and  now  stood  revealed  in  a  gray  gown 
with  a  mull  kerchief  round  her  neck,  and  a  little  gray  bonnet. 

Josiah  took  her  right  hand  in  bis  and  said,  distinctly  and  yet 
nervously:  "In  the  presence  of  the  Lord  and  this  Assembly  I  take 
thee,  Catharine  Armstrong,  to  be  my  wife,  promising,  with  Divine 
assistance,  to  be  unto  thee  a  faithful  and  loving  husband  until  death 
shall  separate  us." 

Then  the  bride,  without  the  slightest  embarrassment,  yet  with 
perfect  modesty,  said:  "In  the  presence  of  the  Lord  and  this  Assem 
bly,  I  take  thee,  Josiah  Lake,  to  be  my  husband,  promising,  with 
Divine  assistance,  to  be  unto  thee  a  faithful  and  loving  wife  until 
death  shall  separate  us." 

They  sat  down,  and  the  bride's  brother,  James  Armstrong, 
placed  in  front  of  them  a  small  table  containing  pen  and  ink  and  the 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  31 

marriage  certificate.  With  a  large  quill,  new  for  the  occasion,  Josiah 
Penn  Lake  and  Catharine  Armstrong  Lake  signed  their  names.  Then 
the  certificate  was  handed  to  an  aunt  of  the  bride,  and  she  rose  and 
read  it  aloud.  Then  it  was  placed  again  on  the  table,  and  all  the 
Lakes  and  Armstrongs  signed  their  names  and  left  the  Meeting 
House,  while  other  Friends  gathered  round  the  table  to  affix  their 
signatures  to  the  important  document. 

The  guests  then  repaired  to  the  house  of  Anna  Armstrong,  the 
bride's  mother,  where  the  bride  and  groom,  with  the  immediate  mem 
bers  of  the  two  families,  were  stationed  in  the  second  story  front 
room,  transformed  for  the  occasion  into  a  sitting-room,  to  receive 
them. 

After  removing  their  bonnets,  cloaks,  etc.,  the  guests  went  in 
small  groups  into  the  "  presence  chamber,"  paid  their  respects,  then 
descended  to  the  parlor  to  make  room  for  others  who  wished  to  offer 
greetings  to  the  bridal  party. 

At  last,  compliments  and  congratulations  being  over,  the  bride 
and  groom  led  the  way  to  the  dining-room.  At  this  moment  Rachel 
and  Hilda  were  met  in  the  hall  by  James  Armstrong.  "  Friend 
Rachel.''  said  he,  "  permit  me  to  take  thee  to  the  dining-room; 
Friend  Walton  is  saving  a  place  for  thee  beside  her.  Hilda  Sedgeley, 
will  thee  wait  here  a  moment  till  I  come  back,  and  then  go  with  me 
to  the  parlor?  " 

"  Yes,  James,  if  thee  does  not  tarry  too  long,"  answered  Hilda. 

James  Armstrong  escorted  Rachel  Fuller  to  the  dining-room, 
then  hurried  back  to  Hilda. 

"  Hilda,"  he  said,  "  sometimes  it  is  unfortunate  to  be  young. 
We  are  doomed  to  wait  till  the  second  table,  so  let  us  join  our  com 
panions  in  misery,  and  play  some  games." 

They  were  soon  among  a  crowd  of  young  people,  nearly  all  of 
whom  were  well  acquainted,  enjoying  such  games  as  "  forfeits  "  and 
"  hide  the  handkerchief." 

Among  the  young  men  was  Richard  Thorpe,  wildly  jealous  of 
James  Armstrong  and  of  two  or  three  other  youths  who  were  ex 
tremely  gallant  to  Hilda.  Hilda  had  not  yet  told  Richard  the  story 
of  the  buckle,  but  intended  to  do  so  in  the  course  of  the  day,  though 
she  did  not  intend  to  tell  it  to  anyone  else  outside  her  Aunt  Rachel's 


32  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

household.  Indeed,  Hilda  never  thought  of  Richard  as  being  out 
side  the  household. 

When  the  hearty  appetites  of  the  elders  had  done  justice  to  the 
substantial  dinner,  the  young  folks  were  summoned  to  the  table. 
Josiah  Lake  took  his  station  for  the  afternoon  in  a  little  room  beside 
the  parlor,  to  converse  with  his  friends  whenever  they  chose  to  rally 
round  him,  while  Cassie  returned  to  the  room  on  the  second  floor  to 
give  special  audience  to  those  who  wished  to  converse  with  her. 

Richard  Thorpe  had  determined  to  have  Hilda  for  his  com 
panion  at  dinner,  and  gave  a  sigh  of  relief  as  they  sat  down  side  by 
side.  Hilda  laughed  and  said: 

"Why,  Richard,  are  you  tired?  At  the  next  wedding  you  will 
have  to  eat  with  the  old  folks  if  you  can't  wait  without  losing  your 
strength." 

"  Xo,  Hilda,  I  am  strong  enough,  but  I  don't  feel  so  much  at 
liome  among  the  Friends  as  you  do,"  he  answered,  looking  at  her 
^significantly. 

Hilda,  ignoring  the  glance,  said:  "Cassie  and  Joe  seem  very 
happy,  and  she  is  the  prettiest  picture  to-day,  isn't  she?  Is  Joe  as 
.nice  as  he  seems?  " 

"  I  don't  know  how  nice  he  seems  to  you,  Hilda,  but  I  think  he 
is  a  fine  fellow.  But  as  to  the  prettiest  picture — well,  I  think  I  have 
as  pretty  a  one  beside  me  now." 

"  Thank  you,  Richard;  that  gives  me  even  a  better  appetite  than 
I  had  before.  Do  you  see  this  buckle  in  my  ribbon?  Take  a  good 
look  at  it,  for  if  ever  you  see  one  like  it  I  want  you  to  recognize  it 
and  fly  to  tell  me." 

And  in  the  midst  of  the  mirth  around  them,  and  with  interrup 
tions  occasioned  by  the  necessity  of  joining  from  time  to  time  in  the 
general  conversation,  Hilda,  in  a  few  words,  told  Richard  the  story 
of  the  buckle. 

Richard  listened  with  a  sinking  heart.  During  the  games  ho 
had  realized  in  an  uncomfortable  way  that  Hilda  had  other  admirers 
beside  Richard  Thorpe;  but  her  story7  of  the  buckle  showed  that  not 
only  had  she  other  admirers,  but  that  she  was  now  possessed  of  an 
entirely  new  fancy  which  would  direct  her  thoughts  to  a  strange 
channel.  To  be  sure  this  fancy  would  make  her  disregard  the 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  33 

homage  of  the  youths  who  had  roused  his  jealousy,  but  how  about 
his  own  homage?  lie  doubted  not  that  in  time  her  novel  fancy 
would  exhaust  itself,  but  meantime — he  dared  not  think  what  might 
happen. 

"  Richard,  I  feel  sure  that  I  am  going  to  find  that  other  buckle," 
said  Hilda. 

"  Do  you  think  it  is  at  this  wedding?  "  said  he,  making  an  effort 
to  smile. 

"  Xo,  but  I  shall  know  somehow  when  it  comes  around.  I 
can't  say  just  exactly  how,  but  I  shall  know." 

The  afternoon  was  passed  in  social  conversation  and  games. 
People  came  and  went,  dutifully  sitting  awhile  upstairs  with  the 
bride,  downstairs  with  the  groom.  The  young  couple  informed  every 
one  that  they  would  keep  open  house  in  their  own  home  for  the  next 
two  weeks,  and  that  they  should  be  offended  if  they  did  not  see  all 
their  friends  in  that  time.  At  four  o'clock  chocolate  and  little  seed 
cakes  were  handed  around,  and  at  six  supper  was  served.  Shortly 
after  eight  it  was  rumored  that  the  bride  and  groom  had  slipped  away 
to  their  own  little  home  near  by,  and  then  the  guests  prepared  to 
depart. 

Though  Edward  Love  had  called  during  the  afternoon,  he  had 
not  remained  for  supper;  so  Richard  Thorpe,  by  a  previous  arrange 
ment  with  Rachel,  escorted  her  and  Hilda  home.  Hilda  was  gay  dur 
ing  their  walk,  but  Richard  said  scarcely  a  word. 

Aunt  Rachel's  door  was  opened  by  Jerusha,  who  was  eating  the 
last  of  John's  apples,  and  Richard  turned  away,  saying  to  himself, 
"  How  cold  it  is!  winter  has  really  come." 


34  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

WINTER-TIME. 

"  For  little   things  on   little  wings 

Bear    little    souls    to    Heaven." 

THE  weeks  that  followed  made  no  important  change  in  Hilda's 
manner  of  life.  An  unfriendly  winter  had  set  in,  and  in  spite  of  the 
stone  sidewalks  the  streets  were  not  inviting,  so  the  social  life  of  the 
city  was  less  active  than  usual. 

The  people  were  depressed,  not  only  hy  the  weather,  but  by  the 
grave  questions  of  the  times.  Men  conversant  with  public  affairs 
felt  uneasy  at  the  increasing  obduracy  of  spirit  shown  by  England. 
Trade  was  affected  unfavorably,  prices  rose.  There  were  many  pub 
lic  and  private  discussions  as  to  what  men  should  do  to  bring  the 
King  to  terms.  Some  thought  that  when  Congress  assembled  again 
in  September  all  doubtful  questions  would  be  settled.  Others 
prophesied  war,  and  even  wished  it  would  come,  for  then  the  King 
would  see  that  the  colonists  were  in  earnest,  and  he  would  yield  at 
once  to  their  demands;  a  little  show  of  fight  was  all  that  would  be 
needed. 

The  Friends  were  persistent  in  their  efforts  to  keep  down  public 
excitement.  They  urged  the  people  to  moderate  their  anger,  to  put 
aside  all  thoughts  of  retaliation  and  resistance,  to  "  turn  the  other 
cheek,"  to  make  further  petitions  to  the  King,  mildly,  clearly,  yet 
earnestly,  and  to  wait  with  dignified  patience  till  their  requests  were 
heard,  in  the  meantime  accommodating  themselves  to  circumstances. 

Rachel  Fuller's  household  shared  the  excitement  of  the  time, 
Rachel  herself  more  than  once  speaking  publicly  in  the  Meeting. 
Edward  Love  thought  war  a  terrible  evil,  but  sometimes  a  necessary 
one.  and  when  peaceful  measures  failed,  he  would  advocate  hostile 
measures.  ''  The  time  may  come."  he  said,  "  when  men  will  be  wise 
enough  to  respect  each  other's  rights  without  being  forced  to  do  so; 
then  war  will  lie  condemned  as  barbarous.  But  that  time  has  not  yet 
.come.'' 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  35 

Rachel  Fuller  argued  that  war  is  opposed  to  Christianity;  that 
failure  to  get  a  thing  is  no  sign  that  it  is  right  to  take  it  forcibly; 
that  forbearance  and  humility  and  endurance  are  cardinal  virtues, 
sure  to  triumph  in  the  end. 

Hilda  Sedgeley  listened  to  arguments  on  both  sides  of  the  ques 
tion,  but  knew  not  what  to  think  for  herself.  The  word  "war" 
frightened  her  a  little,  yet  it  seemed  something  undefined  and  distant. 
She  thought  vaguely  that  if  war  should  come,  some  men  from  some 
other  places  in  the  colonies — she  hardly  knew  where — would  go  out  in 
a  vessel  and  bring  the  King's  troops  to  terms.  For  as  yet  there  were 
no  preparations  for  war;  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  to  a  young  and 
inexperienced  mind  that  if  war  came  it  would  come  in  its  usual  form, 
— that  of  a  horrible,  irresistible  demon,  stalking  through  every  city 
and  entering  every  door. 

Meanwhile  the  household  duties  were  performed  with  the  accus 
tomed  precision  and  regularity — knitting,  quilting,  spinning,  weav 
ing,  sewing,  in  addition  to  the  vast  amount  of  work  connected  with 
the  preparation  of  food  in  those  days,  when  nothing  could  be  bought 
ready  to  the  housekeeper's  hand. 

Hilda  assisted  in  these  household  duties,  and  in  the  evenings  she 
had  time  for  her  shell  work  or  bead  work,  or  else  she  wrote  in  her 
"  piece  book  "  scraps  of  useful  information  and  quotations  dictated  by 
her  Cousin  Fdward. 

This  literary  work  had  been  of  immense  value  to  Hilda,  and  a 
source  of  great  delight.  Like  other  girls  of  that  time,  she  had  gone 
to  a  little  school  in  the  neighborhood  till  she  had  reached  her  fif 
teenth  year.  In  arithmetic  she  had  learned  the  four  fundamental 
rules,  and  something  about  fractions  and  the  "rule  of  three."  She 
had  studied  geography  from  book  and  globe,  had  been  well  drilled 
in  spelling,  had  learned  some  common  truths  about  nature,  had  gone 
through  a  history  of  England,  and  had  been  taught  a  few  miscel 
laneous  historical  facts,  besides  becoming  skilled  in  beautiful  needle 
work.  Twice  a  year,  by  way  of  an  exhibition  piece,  she  had  copied 
on  a  large  sheet  of  paper  some  proverbs  from  Poor  Richard's  Almanac 
or  some  verses  from  the  Bible,  ornamenting  the  page  with  fancy 
capital  letters  of  German  text  style. 

She  took  such  pleasure  in  this  writing  that  it  suggested  to  her 


36  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

cousin  Edward  the  course  of  work  that  had  been  carried  on  in  win 
ter  evenings  since  she  had  left  school.  He  owned  a  small  stock  of 
good  books,  and  from  them  he  selected  passages  that  would  interest 
and  instruct  Hilda.  Then,  in  the  evenings,  he  read  them  to  her,  dis 
cussed  them  with  her,  gave  them  to  her  word  by  word  while  she 
wrote  them  accurately  in  a  blank  book.  This  was  an  expensive  ar 
ticle  then,  but  Edward  gave  Plilda  a  blank  book  each  year.  And  so 
she  had  copied  passages  from  Milton,  Dryden,  Pope,  Thompson, 
Addison,  Goldsmith,  Gray,  and  many  lines  of  Shakespeare.  Aunt 
Eachel  had  at  first  looked  upon  the  "  play  book  "  of  Shakespeare  with 
distrust,  but  Edward  had  assured  her  that  he  would  not  put  it  into 
Hilda's  hands,  but  merely  teach  her  some  of  its  noblest  sentiments. 

Any  verses  to  which  Hilda  took  a  special  fancy  she  committed 
to  memory  after  copying  them,  so  that  Edward's  plan  of  education 
proved  exceedingly  useful.  She  was  also  perfectly  familiar  with 
Bible  narratives  and  precepts,  having  for  ten  years  heard  the  Sacred 
Book  read  daily  by  her  Aunt  Eachel,  whose  reading  was  impressive, 
unforgetable,  beautiful.  So  Hilda's  mind  did  not  lack  nourishment. 

Edward  loved  the  young  girl  devotedly.  He  wanted  her  to  have 
the  full  measure  of  joy  that  his  life  had  missed.  He  was  always  her 
chivalrous  knight,  ready  with  appreciative  compliment,  with  wise 
counsel  and  encouragement.  He  developed  the  artistic  side  of  her 
nature,  neglected  by  her  aunt  Eachel.  For  her  he  gathered  the  first 
blossoms  of  spring,  the  roses  of  June,  the  leaves  of  autumn,  the  holly 
of  Christmas.  He  never  missed  a  service  at  Christ  Church,  and  gen 
erally  had  Hilda  for  his  companion.  He  taught  her  to  appreciate 
and  enjoy  the  beauty  and  majesty  of  the  English  ritual;  he  told  her 
of  the  noble  cathedrals  and  picturesque  village  churches  in  England, 
and  Hilda  listened  with  the  image  of  her  father  and  mother  in  her 
heart. 

Edward  Love  had  also  a  strong  liking  for  young  Eichard  Thorpe, 
and  had  not  failed  to  let  him  have  a  share  in  the  instructions  offered 
so  freely  to  Hilda,  though,  of  course,  Eichard's  chief  duty  had  been 
to  serve  his  apprenticeship  to  Thomas  Greene,  the  apothecary. 
Eichard  had  always  accompanied  the  Greenes  to  Christ  Church,  and 
walked  home  afterward  with  Edward  Love  and  Hilda  Sedgeley. 

This  winter  Hilda  saw  Eichard  as  usual  on  Sundays,  but  did  not 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  37 

see  so  much  of  him  in  the  evenings  through  the  week,  for  he  said 
he  was  making  some  special  studies  in  chemistry.  His  statement 
about  his  extra  work  was  accepted  by  Hilda  with 
no  feeling  of  dissatisfaction.  She  was  proud  of  his 
energy  and  industry;  she  encouraged  his  efforts, 
and  was  conscious  of  no  loneliness,  for  she  had  the 
gentle  companionship  of  her  aunt  Rachel,  the 'sym 
pathetic  friendship  of  her  cousin  Edward,  and,  hidden  away  in  a 
corner  of  her  heart,  she  had  her  little  romance  of  the  silver  buckle. 


CHAPTEE  VII. 

AN  APRIL  EVENING. 

"God  is  the  Perfect  Poet, 
Who    in    creation    acts    his    own    conceptions." 

—Robert  Browning. 

IN  due  time  the  gloomy  winter  was  compelled  to  give  place  to 
the  charming  spring;  the  old  earth  smiled  and  donned  her  new  robes, 
as  if  there  were  no  such  things  as  freezing  wind  and  bitter  storm; 
heavy  hearts  became  light,  light  hearts  became  buoyant. 

One  pleasant  evening  late  in  April,  Hilda  Sedgeley  was  standing 
at  the  front  door,  and  enjoying  the  balmy  air  of  twilight,  when 
Richard  Thorpe  came  down  the  street  with  superb  bunches  of  apple 
blossoms  in  his  hand. 

"  Good  evening,  Richard,"  Hilda  called  out,  merrily,  "  you  must 
have  been  robbing  an  orchard.  You  had  better  come  in  and  hide 
awhile  from  the  pursuers,  who  must  be  on  your  track." 

"  This  is  the  very  refuge  I  am  seeking,"  said  he,  coming  gaily 
up  the  steps,  "  and  this  plunder  is  for  you,  Hilda.  Beauty  to  the 
beautiful,"  said  he,  gallantly,  presenting  the  blossoms. 

"  Thanks  to  the  noble,"  said  she  with  a  courtesy.     "  Come  into 


38  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

the  parlor  and  I'll  put  them  into  a  vase.  Aunt  Rachel  has  gone 
around  to  Susan  Walton's  for  a  little  chat,  and  Cousin  Edward  had 
to  go  out  to  attend  to  some  business,  so  you  find  me  alone.  I'll  en 
tertain  you  in  great  state  to-night,  Richard,  in  the  parlor,  and  you 
must  make  believe  that  you  don't  know  that  Aunt  Rachel's  been  clean 
ing  house,  and  that  the  sitting-room  was  cleaned  to-day  and  is  not 
in  order  yet." 

"  Well,  this  room  is  in  order,  at  any  rate,"  said  he,  as  they  en 
tered  the  parlor;  "  it  fairly  shines  with  cleanliness.  I  have  so  seldom 
been  in  this  room  that  I  feel  strange  in  it." 

"  Suppose  you  try  to  learn  to  feel  at  home  in  it,  Richard,  while 
I  go  and  fill  this  vase  with  water  for  the  blossoms." 

"  No,  no,  Hilda;  I  will  not  stay  here  alone;  the  responsibility  of 
staying  by  myself  in  Friend  Rachel's  best  room  just  after  it  has  had 
its  spring  cleaning  is  too  great  for  me,"  and  he  followed  her  through 
the  hall. 

They  went  out  the  side  door,  where  Jerusha  was  sitting  with 
Fairy.  "  Lack-a-day,"  said  Jerusha,  "  but  young  folks  is  bold,  takin* 
a  parlor  vase  to  put  nothin'  but  blossoms  in.  '  Wilful  waste  makes 
woeful  want.'  '' 

"  0.  we  are  not  wasting  anything,  Jerusha,  and  so  we  are  sure 
of  being  as  rich  as  princes  some  day,"  answered  Richard.  "  Hi, 
Fairy!  where  is  Fido?" 

"  Fido  has  gone  with  Cousin  Edward,"  answered  Hilda,  "  but 
let  us  hurry  and  get  the  water  for  the  blossoms." 

"Mind  you  wipe  the  drips  off  the  vase,"  called  Jerusha,  as  she 
heard  Richard  pumping  vigorously. 

"  It's  all  dry  outside,  Jerusha,"  said  Richard  reassuringly,  as  he 
and  Hilda  returned  to  the  parlor. 

"  Xow,  slave,"  said  Hilda,  playfully,  "  deposit  the  vase  upon  that 
table.  I  myself  will  arrange  the  flowers." 

"  Yea,  gracious  lady,"  answered  Richard,  following  her  mockery; 
"  they  should  not  be  touched  except  by  thine  own  fair  hands." 

"  They  bring  me  messages  from  fairy  land,  slave,  which  thou 
dost  not  hear,"  said  Hilda,  busying  herself  with  the  blossoms,  "  and 
the  fountain  where  thou  didst  draw  this  limpid  water  is  an  enchanted 
fountain,  and  will  keep  the  blossoms  fresh  until  I  weary  of  them." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  39 

"  Fair  lady,  thy  slave  has  yet  another  mission  to  perform/'  said 
Richard,  going  to  a  table  where  he  had  deposited  a  small  parcel, 
loosely  wrapped  in  white  paper.  He  opened  the  parcel  and  disclosed 
a  tiny  bouquet  of  violets,  anemones  and  delicate  ferns. 

"  Oh,  lovely,  lovely,"  said  Hilda,  in  her  natural  manner,  before 
Richard  had  a  chance  to  speak. 

''  These  flowers,  fair  lady,"  continued  he,  not  heeding  her  inter 
ruption,  "  have  magic  charms.  They  grew  in  an  enchanted  valley  in 
the  realm  of  Mystery.  They  were  sent  by  my  royal  master,  King 
Patient  Waiting,  as  a  tribute  to  thy  worth  and  beauty.  He  requests 
that  thou  wilt  wear  them  as  a  breastknot.  When  they  have  told 
thee  their  secret,  they  will  fade,  in  spite  of  all  thou  may'st  do  to 
prevent  them." 

Hilda  was  embarrassed  during  this  long  speech,  and  her  cheeks 
flushed  as  she  took  the  bouquet  from  Richard's  hand.  "  Convey  my 
thanks  to  the  monarch.  These  flowers  are  rich  in  color  and  grateful 
in  fragrance,"  and  she  fastened  them  to  her  gown,  "  but  I  am  too 
much  occupied  at  present  to  listen  to  their  secret." 

"  They  will  keep  till  they  have  fulfilled  their  mission,"  said 
Richard. 

"Don't  let  us  play  this  any  longer,  Richard;  let  us  talk  sense. 
I  want  to  show  you  my  '  piece-book,'  finished  for  the  season.  Just 
"before  tea  I  wrote  the  line  that  came  to  me  as  the  proper  '  finis  '  for 
this  volume." 

They  sat  down  side  by  side,  Richard  holding  the  book.  Many 
of  the  quotations  were  familiar  to  him,  Hilda  having  discussed  them 
with  him  during  the  winter  evenings,  but  he  made  comments  on  the 
new  ones:  he  read  some  aloud — and  read  them  well;  he  chose  cer 
tain  ones  as  his  favorites,  and  asked  Hilda  which  she  preferred.  As 
he  was  nearing  the  end,  Hilda  suddenly  caught  hold  of  the  book  with 
both  hands,  saying,  "  Now,  don't  look  ahead,  Richard,  don't  turn 
another  page.  Try  to  guess  what  I  wrote  as  a  '  finis." 

"  Tt  would  require  the  wisdom  of  Solomon  to  guess  what  you 
have  written,  Hilda?" 

"Am  I  such  an  uncertain  creature,  Richard,  that  you  cannot  tell 
what  I  am  likely  to  do?  " 

"  No,  indeed,  Hilda,  where  reasonable,  solid,  everyday  matters 


40  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

are  concerned  you  are  as  steady  as  clockwork;  but  in  a  matter  of 
fancy — in  a  matter  of  fancy,  1  would  not  like  to  wager  what  course 
you  would  take."  Richard  spoke  with  the  air  of  a  man  thinking  of 
something  below  the  surface  of  his  words. 

Hilda  felt  embarrassed,  she  scarcely  knew  why,  and  immediately 
she  remembered  that  on  two  or  three  previous  occasions  she  had 
felt  embarrassed  at  Richard's  manner.  She  quickly  resumed  her 
teazing  tone,  and  said,  snatching  the  book  from  him,  "  Wager  noth 
ing;  I  ask  for  no  wager;  I  ask  for  a  guess.  Now  I'll  give  you  two 
minutes  to  speak — to  speak  right  to  the  point.  If  you  do  not  make 
a  noble  effort  you  will  lose  your  privilege  of  knowing  what  I  wrote." 

"First  effort:  'Time  and  the  hour  rub  through  the  roughest 
day,' "  said  Richard,  quickly. 

"  Now,  Richard  Thorpe,  you  know  I  love  to  write,  and  it's  not  a 
case  of  rubbing  through.  I  always  hate  to  close  my  winter's  work." 

"  Then  perhaps  you  wrote,  '  The  thing  which  I  greatly  feared 
is  come  upon  me.' >: 

"'Greatly  feared!'  why,  Richard,  you  must  be  crazy." 

"  0, 1  know  now,  Hilda,  'A  little  learning  is  a  dangerous  thing.'  " 

"  Forsooth,  Mr.  Pertness,  you  have  lost  your  chance,  the  time 
is  up.  Yom  '  little  learning '  will  be  '  dangerous  '  to  you,"  and  Hilda 
clasped  the  book  tightly  in  her  arms. 

"  I  have  thirty  seconds  grace,  Hilda,  and  I  can  tell  you  exactly. 
You  wrote,  '  The  desire  accomplished  is  sweet  to  the  soul.'  " 

"  Well,  that  is  more  sensible,  Richard,  and  in  return  for  the 
great  effort  you  have  made,  I  will  show  you  what  I  wrote." 

She  opened  the  book  and  held  it  toward  him  with  a  deprecating 
air,  fearing  that  he  might  laugh,  and  knowing  that  if  he  did  the 
laugh  would  jar  upon  her.  But  Richard  did  not  laugh,  for  the  words 
to  which  his  attention  was  directed  showed  him  that  Hilda  had  writ 
ten  under  the  promptings  of  one  of  her  finer  fancies,  which  he  un 
derstood  and  respected. 

First,  there  was  the  matter-of-fact  date,  April  24th,  1775,  and 
then  in  large  German  text,  ornamented  with  delicate  vines,  were  the 
words,  "  The  time  for  the  singing  of  birds  is  come." 

"  That  is  fine,  Hilda,"  said  Richard  in  a  tone  of  admiration, 
"you  could  not  have  made  a  better  ending." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  41 

"  The  day  and  the  hour  suggested  the  words  to  me;  I  could  not 
have  said  anything  else.  Just  think  of  it!  The  long,  cold,  stormy 
winter,  with  all  its  shivers  and  bad  streets  and  high  prices  and  hard 
times,  has  passed  away;  and  now  we  have  soft,  sweet  air,  open  win 
dows,  walks  in  the  fields,  sweet  smells  of  country,  grass  and  blossoms 
and  wild  flowers;  and  people  will  be  brighter,  and  times  will  be  bet 
ter — oh!  how  thankful  I  am  for  spring!" 

She  had  risen  during  this  speech,  and  walked  to  the  window, 
Richard  following  her.  Together  they  stepped  out  on  the  little 
balcony  in  front  of  the  parlor,  and  walked  up  and  down.  After  a 
moment's  silence,  Richard  said,  "  I  share  your  feelings,  Hilda.  I 
suppose  spring  and  youth  belong  together,  whispering  promises  for 
the  future,  arousing  hopes.  This  very  morning  I  decided  two  im 
portant  matters.  I  told  Mr.  Greene  that  after  three  months  I  would 
go  into  business  for  myself." 

"And  what  did  he  say?"  asked  Hilda. 

"  He  said  he  would  do  what  he  could  to  assist  me,  and  he  wished 
me  good  luck.  The  other  decision,"  said  he,  speaking  slowly,  "  was 
to  tell  you  of  my  love  for  you.  Hilda,"  he  burst  forth  impetuously, 
"  you  surely  know  I  love  you.  I  have  kept  silence  only  because  I  had 
a  feeling  that  you  were  not  ready  to  hear  me  speak.  I  understand 
your  feelings  in  regard  to  the  silver  buckle,  and  I  don't  ask  for  an 
answer  to-night,  Hilda;  but  do  not  let  the  jest  of  a  hundred  years 
ago  interfere  with  the  happiness  of  to-day.  Won't  you  fix  a  limit 
to  your  time  of  waiting?  Say  you  will  wait  no  more  than  six  months; 
that  you  will  tell  me  then  whether  you  will  be  my  wife." 

It  was  not  miite  dark,  and  as  they  turned  at  the  end  of  the 
balcony  they  saw  a  young  man  coming  quickly  up  the  street.  "  Here's 
Joe  Lake,"  said  Hilda,  and  at  the  same  instant  he  stopped  at  the 
balcony.  "Good  evening,  Joe,  what  is  your  hurry?"  Hilda's  tone 
showed  no  annoyance  at  the  interruption. 

"  Hilda,  I  have  news,"  said  Joe.  "  Richard,  an  express,  has 
brought  news  of  a  battle  at  Lexington,  near  Boston;  the  King's 
troops  fired  upon  the  militia  and  several  were  killed;  and  later,  the 
militia  attacked  the  King's  troops,  and  about  two  hundred  were 
killed." 

"  Will  there  be  any  more  fighting?  "  asked  Hilda,  fearfully. 


42  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

"  Did  you  hear  how  the  trouble  began,  Joe?  "  asked  Richard. 

"  I  couldn't  learn  much  to-night,  Richard,  but  the  news  is 
spreading,  and  there  is  to  be  a  meeting  at  the  State  House  to-morrow 
to  see  what  should  be  done,  and  we  shall  hear  the  whole  story  then." 

''Here  come  Cousin  Edward  and  Aunt  Rachel,"  said  Hilda;  "1 
wonder  if  they  know." 

Yes,  they  knew.  Edward  Love  had  heard  the  rumor  before 
going  to  Susan  Walton's  to  bring  Rachel  Fuller  home. 

"  Sad  news,  Joe;  sad  news,  Richard,"  said  Edward. 

" '  They  that  take  the  sword  shall  perish  by  the  sword,' "  said 
Rachel. 

"  It  may  be  necessary  for  some  of  us  to  perish,  Rachel,  that 
others  may  live,"  said  Edward  Love. 

"  Well,  let  us  seek  rest  while  we  have  the  chance,"  said  Rachel. 
"Joe  and  Richard,  it  is  too  late  to  ask  you  to  come  in,  so  we  will 
bid  you  good  night." 

The  young  men  went  down  the  street  together.  When  Hilda 
lighted  the  lamp  she  looked  down  at  the  anemones  and  violets  on  her 
breast,  and  found  them  faded  and  drooping.  They  had  told  their 
secret. 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  43 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

THE  SUMMER  OF  1775. 

"  All  the  interim  is  as  a  phantasma  or  a  hideous  dream." 

— Shakespeare. 

THE  events  following  that  memorable  evening  seemed  afterward 
to  Hilda  as  those  of  a  troubled  dream.  Edward  Love  gave  her  a  full 
account  of  the  mass  meeting  at  the  State  House  the  next  day,  where 
the  citizens  resolved  to  "  associate  together  to  defend  with  arms  their 
property,  liberty  and  lives."  After  that  came  the  building  of  forts, 
the  manufacture  of  ammunition,  the  enrollment  of  militia,  the  daily 
drill. 

Richard  Thorpe,  giving  up  all  hopes  of  opening  his  own  shop, 
remained  with  Mr.  Greene,  and  devoted  his  spare  time  to  prepara 
tions  for  war.  Edward  Love  gave  all  possible  assistance  to  the  meas 
ures  for  offense  and  defense;  but  by  reason  of  his  infirmity  could  not 
join  the  train-bands.  Rachel  Fuller  and  other  Friends  worked  zeal 
ously  to  calm  the  excitement  and  avert  violent  resistance.  But  some 
of  the  Friends  renounced  the  principles  of  peace,  and  formed  a  soldier 
company  of  their  own.  Among  these  was  Josiah  Lake.  Cassie  and 
Hilda  were  much  together  during  this  time,  and  anxiously  discussed 
the  present  and  speculated  about  the  future. 

As  formerly,  Hilda  went  at  times  to  the  week-day  meeting  with 
her  aunt  Rachel,  and  was  greatly  divided  in  her  sentiments  about 
violent  resistance  to  wrongs.  One  morning,  a  woman  named  Mary 
Harris,  a  stranger,  addressed  the  Meeting,  and  so  stirring  were  her 
words,  so  great  was  her  excitement,  speaking  from  the  text:  "  See 
now  to  your  standing,  for  this  is  the  Lord  about  to  search  and  ex 
amine  his  camp,"  that  Hilda  was  as  one  overwhelmed  by  momentous 
tidings.  She  could  not  explain  her  feelings,  but  some  new  forces 
were  started  in  her  nature;  and  shrinking  from  a  renewal  of  the  asso 
ciations  of  that  hour,  she  never  went  again  to  Friends'  Meeting. 

After  that  came  the  sessions  of  the  second  Continental  Con- 


44  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

gress,  and  the  rumors  that  some  of  its  members  were  suggesting  and 
advising  entire  separation  from  England. 

On  the  twenty-first  of  June,  Hilda  witnessed  the  proud  proces 
sion  that  escorted  George  Washington,  the  newly  appointed  General- 
in-Chief,  through  the  streets  when  he  left  to  take  command  of  the 
American  army  at  Boston.  Then,  for  the  first  time,  Hilda  felt  con 
vinced  that  there  would  be  a  war.  The  preparations  made  in  the 
city  during  the  last  two  months  had  seemed  to  be  merely  prudent 
measures,  for  which  there  would  never  be  any  real  necessity.  She  had 
shared  in  the  sympathy  aroused  time  after  time  by  the  troubles  of 
Boston,  yet  still  she  thought  means  of  peace  would  be  devised.  But 
the  twenty-first  of  June  threw  a  new  light  upon  Hilda's  view  of  public 
affairs.  For  upon  that  day  she  saw  a  thoughtful,  majestic  man,  for 
ty-three  years  of  age,  renowned  for  his  skill  and  bravery  in  an  earlier 
war,  high  in  social  position,  distinguished  in  the  various  public  assem 
blies  of  which  he  had  been  a  member,  ride  forth  to  take  command  of 
an  army.  With  him  were  General  Charles  Lee,  an  English  officer 
of  great  repute,  and  General  Philip  Schiller,  also  a  brave  soldier, 
and,  like  Washington,  a  member  of  the  Congress  that  had  vested  him 
with  this  authority.  They  were  escorted  through  the  streets  of  Phil 
adelphia  by  the  militia,  by  the  prominent  citizens,  and  also  by  dele 
gates  from  the  Congress  then  in  session. 

The  news  of  the  next  day  showed  not  only  that  war  would  be, 
but  that  it  had  already  begun  in  deadly  earnest,  for  it  was  news  of 
the  battle  fought  at  Bunker  Hill  four  days  earlier.  It  was  news  that 
appalled  all  hearts,  only  to  animate  them  with  increased  strength 
and  courage. 

Hilda's  next  memorable  experience  was  about  a  month  later  when 
Richard  came  to  bid  them  good-bye,  for  his  company  was  arranging 
to  start  the  next  day  to  join  the  main  body  of  troops.  He  managed 
to  say  to  her  privately,  "  I'll  come  for  my  answer,  Hilda,  when  the 
war  is  over."  She,  struggling  to  hide  her  sorrow,  might  have  spoken 
under  the  impulse  of  the  moment,  but  had  rro  chance  to  do  so. 

"  Friend  Eachel,"  he  said,  in  his  old  laughing  way,  "  thee  knows 
Mr.  Franklin  says,  l  Make  yourselves  sheep  and  the  wolves  will  eat 
you.'  Now,  we  don't  intend  to  let  the  wolves  have  any  chance; 
they'll  find  no  sheep  in  their  path." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  45 

With  promises  that  he  would  write  when  he  could,  and  a  silent 
pressure  of  each  friendly  hand,  he  was  gone. 

Earlier  in  the  day,  rough,  honest  old  John  Peters,  going  in  the 
same  company  with  Richard,  had  bade  them  good-bye,  and  Jerusha 
had  said.  "  'taint  no  loss." 

Richard's  departure  left  Hilda  with  a  dull  aching  sense  of  loss 
and  a  dread  of  the  perils  of  war.  She  had  not  known  life  without 
Richard's  companionship,  and  could  not  analyze  her  feelings  in  regard 
to  him,  but  she  would  gladly  have  had  him  back  again.  There  were 
moments  when  she  was  conscious  of  a  feeling  of  relief  that  she  did 
not  need  to  answer  the  question  at  once.  She  said  to  herself,  "  The 
war  may  last  a  whole  year,  and  by  that  time  I  shall  know  myself." 
In  this  mood  she  wrote  one  day,  and  put  among  her  secret  treasures, 
the  following  story: — 

A  SILLY  FABLE. 

Once  upon  a  time  there  lived  great  flocks  of  birds  in  a  certain 
valley,  which  came  to  be  called  the  Valley  of  Birds.  Perhaps  the 
valley  was  not  the  most  beautiful  in  the  world,  or  the  most  desirable, 
but  it  afforded  comfortable  shelter  and  abundant  food;  the  air  was 
sweet,  the  winds  were  gentle. 

Across  the  west  end  of  the  valley  was  a  natural  wall  of  tall  trees, 
low  shrubs  and  underbrush.  In  the  Yalley  of  Birds  it  was  known 
that  other  birds  lived  beyond  that  wall,  and,  indeed,  sometimes  those 
in  the  Valley  of  Birds  flew  directly  over  the  trees,  or  between  the 
branches  into  the  Unknown  Valley;  but  they  never  came  back.  The 
birds  understood  this  flight  and  this  continued  absence.  Had  not 
their  king  decreed  that  none  dwelling  in  the  Valley  of  Birds  should 
fly  beyond  the  wall  of  trees,  into  the  Unknown  Valley,  until  the  magic 
feathers  had  appeared  in  their  wings?  Had  not  he  also  decreed  that 
none  should  stay  long  in  the  Valley  of  Birds  after  the  appearance  of 
the  magic  feathers? 

And  what  were  the  magic  feathers?  Two  tiny  feathers,  more 
brilliant  than  the  rest  of  the  plumage,  differing  from  it  in  color,  yet 
harmonizing  with  it,  appearing  in  a  certain  particular  part  of  the 
wing — these  were  the  magic  feathers.  Some  birds  could  feel  these 

4 


46  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

feathers  growing,  others  were  hardly  conscious  of  the  change,  and 
to  some  they  never  came. 

When  a  bird  found  these  magic  feathers  in  his  wings,  he  sought 
a  mate  whose  magic  feathers  had  recently  developed,  and  away  they 
both  flew  into  the  Unknown  Valley. 

One  day  a  bird  named  Talk-rest  said  to  a  bird  that  nested  in  the 
same  tree,  "  Brownthroat,  I  feel  the  magic  feathers." 

"  Pshaw,  pshaw,  Tallcrest,"  laughed  she. 

Another  day  he  said,  "  Brownthroat,  I  can  see  the  new  feathers 
in  my  wings.  Look  at  them,  look  at  them!" 

But  Brownthroat  answered,  "  I  am  busy  picking  this  nice  fat 
snail  out  of  his  shell.  Don't  ask  me  to  look  at  your  new  feathers." 

"0,  Brownthroat,  Brownthroat!"  exclaimed  Tallcrest,  in  raptur 
ous  surprise,  "  I  see  new  feathers  in  your  wings!  Do  you  not  feel 
them?" 

Brownthroat  dropped  the  nice  fat  snail  and  looked  at  her  wings, 
"  Pshaw,  pshaw,  Tallcrest,  you  are  fooling  me." 

"Nay,  nay,  Brownthroat;  stretch  your  neck  as  I  do,  and  spread 
your  wings  and  look." 

Still  Brownthroat  could  not  see  them.  Perhaps  her  sight  was 
not  good,  perhaps  she  could  not  stretch  her  neck,  or  perhaps  the 
feathers  were  not  there,  and  Tallcrest  had  only  imagined  them. 

Other  birds  were  appealed  to  for  their  decision.  Some  said  they 
could  see  the  feathers  distinctly,  others  were  doubtful.  Tt  was  de 
cided  by  all  that  a  brief  time  would  show  whether  the  magic  feathers 
were  really  growing  in  Brownthroat's  wings,  and,  by  common  consent 
of  the  birds  of  the  Valley,  Tallcrest  was  given  the  privilege  of  taking 
refuge  in  one  of  the  trees  on  the  western  wall,  to  wait,  without  looking 
for  another  mate  with  magic  feathers,  until  Brownthroat's  case  could 
be  decided. 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

FRIENDS   AND   FOES. 

"  O,  blindness  to  the  future!  kindly  given, 

That  each  may  fill  the  circle  mark'd  by  Heaven." 

— Pope. 

DURING  the  next  two  years  came  the  varying  events  of  war 
and  the  excitement  attendant  upon  the  Declaration  of  Independence. 
The  latter  part  of  the  summer  of  1777  was  fraught  with  special  mean 
ing  to  the  inhabitants  of  the  peaceful  city  of  Penn,  for  General  Howe 
seemed  to  be  making  plans  to  capture  it.  He  had  left  Xew  York 
with  the  main  body  of  his  troops  early  in  July,  and,  having  joined 
the  naval  forces,  was  now  coming  by  way  of  the  Chesapeake  toward 
Philadelphia. 

There  were  many  royalists  in  Philadelphia,  and  they  regarded 
this  approach  of  the  British  with  much  satisfaction.  Most  of  the 
Friends  were  indifferent  about  it,  and  Rachel  Fuller  probably  ex 
pressed  the  sentiments  of  the  sect  when  she  said:  "  I  will  not  do  any 
thing  to  aid  one  side  more  than  another,  but  any  sick  or  suffering 
man  who  needs  my  help  shall  have  it."  But  the  prospect  of  the 
enemy's  invasion  disturbed  the  patriots;  not  simply  because  of  fears 
for  their  own  comfort  and  safety,  but  because  of  the  effect  upon  the 
American  army. 

"  Rachel,"  said  Edward  Love  one  evening  when  they  were  dis 
cussing  the  situation,  "I  feel  much  depressed;  I  cannot  see  beyond 
this  approaching  trouble." 

"  We  must  bide  the  time,  Edward,"  answered  Rachel.  "  Those 
who  dwell  in  the  midst  of  war  must  learn  to  bear  suspense  and  suf 
fering." 

"  What  will  thee  do,  Aunt  Rachel,  if  the  enemy  should  come 
right  into  the  city?"  asked  Hilda. 

"  I  do  not  speak  of  any  man  as  my  enemy,  Hilda,  but  if  the 
British  soldiers  should  come,  I  know  it  will  be  shown  me  what  to  do. 
I  need  not  make  plans  now." 


48  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

The  pulse  of  the  city  throbbed  with  feverish  excitement 
Washington's  forces  encamped  on  the  Xeshaminy  Creek,  about  twenty 
miles  away.  A  great  crisis  seemed  to  be  impending,  the  effect  of 
which  could  not  fail  to  disturb  either  the  patriots  or  the  royalists  in 
Philadelphia. 

On  Saturday  evening,  August  twenty-third,  Edward  Love  came 
home  in  great  excitement.     "  Hilda,"  said  he,  "  General  Washington 
is  marching  his  troops  to  meet  the  British,  and  they  will  go  through 
'  Philadelphia  to-morrow." 

"  Oh,  Cousin  Edward,  how  did  you  hear  it?" 

"  Congress  has  had  a  letter  from  General  Washington,  who  is 
encamped  with  a  few  troops  at  Germantown;  the  others  are  to  join 
him  there,  and  they  are  coming  through  early  to-morrow  morning. 
The  news  is  flying  about  the  city." 

"  Which  way  are  they  coming?"  asked  Hilda. 

"  Down  Front  Street  and  out  Chestnut.  I'll  take  you  round  to 
the  shop,  and  we  shall  see  them." 

'•  But  surely  it  is  not  the  whole  army,"  said  Hilda. 

"  Xo,  Hilda,  there  is  still  a  large  army  in  the  North.  But  the 
•soldiers  who  pass  through  to-morrow  are  from  this  part  of  the  coun 
try,  so  we  shall  see  some  friends  and  acquaintances  in  the  ranks." 

"  0,  I  must  tell  Jerusha;  she'll  not  want  to  miss  the  sight,"  said 
Hilda,  running  to  the  kitchen. 

"  I  fear  that  a  storm  is  coming,"  said  Eachel  Fuller,  looking  out 
of  the  window. 

"  Better  to-night  than  to-morrow,"  said  Edward  Love. 

And  come  it  did  that  night,  as  if  the  elements  wished  to  take  part 
in  the  disturbed  condition  of  human  affairs;  pouring  rain,  crashing 
thunder,  blinding  lightning.  Rain  again  in  the  early  morning,  but 
soon  the  sun  came  forth.  To  shine  upon  what?  Upon  a  city  whose 
shops  were  closed;  whose  streets  were  quiet;  whose  people  were  making 
ready  to  keep  holy  the  Sabbath-day?  Xo.  That  Sabbath  sun  looked 
down  upon  crowded  streets,  upon  a  surging  population,  eager  for  a 
view  of  the  Continental  Army. 

The  clockmaker's  little  shop  was  crowded  with  people;  all  the 
windows  along  the  expected  line,  of  march  were  densely  thronged. 
Hilda's  heart  beat  so  violently  that  she  thought  Cassie,  sitting  beside 


THE  SILVER  "BUCKLE.  49 

her,  must  hear  it.  But  Cassie  was  listening  to  her  own  heart,  throb 
bing  convulsively  at  the  prospect  of  seeing  the  young  husband  from 
whom  she  had  been  so  soon  separated.  Cassie  and  Hilda  were  ac 
companied  by  Jerusha,  saying  little  except  now  and  then  a  muttered 
regret  that  they  had  to  "  waste  so  much  time  a  waitin'." 

Suddenly  the  crowd  sways,  exclamations  pass  from  lip  to  lip, 
the  ground  trembles  with  the  tramp  of  the  approaching  host.  A 
sound  of  martial  music  is  heard.  Here  they  come. 

Sound,  drum  and  fife!     March,  brave  troops!     Hurrah,  C 
zens!     Here  they  come!     Here  they  come— cavalry  and  infantry! 

Aside  from  the  officers  and  the  foreign  soldiers,  but  little  of  the 
splendid  pomp  and  pageantry  of  war  is  here.  The  military  bearing 
and  the  firm  tread  of  the  trained  soldier  are  lacking.  The  costumes 
are  varied,  and  in  some  cases  grotesque.  But,  as  if  to  hide  these  defi 
ciencies  while  passing  through  the  nation's  capital,  men  and  horses 
are  decorated  with  green  leaves  and  branches.  With  confident  bear 
ing  and  smiling  faces  come  these  men,  who  hold  in  their  keeping  the 
fate  of  this  country. 

Brave,  enthusiastic  troops,  do  you  think  to  make  up  what  vou 
lack  in  experience  and  discipline  by  courage  and  patriotism?  Do 
you  vegard  your  recent  successes  as  hopeful  auguries  of  the  future? 
Ah.  you  have  not  yet  met  England's  veterans  in  the  open  field! 
Though  burning  with  zeal  for  a  just  cause,  you  yet  have  much  to 
learn,  much  to  endure,  before  that  cause  is  won.  Four  years  stretch 
between  you  and  Yorktown. 

There  is  the  commander-in-chief,  erect  in  his  saddle,  firm,  dig 
nified,  courteous — magnificent  soldier,  magnificent  leader  of  soldiers. 
Hurrah,  hurrah,  for  Washington! 

There  is  Lafayette,  the  new  arrival,  twenty  years  old,  a  favorite 
at  the  most  splendid  court  of  Europe,  possessor  of  proud  title  and 
princely  wealth.  He  left  all  that  was  dear  to  him  in  France:  he  came 
to  aid  this  country  because  his  heart  "espoused  warmly  the  can?p  of 
liberty."  God  bless  you,  Lafayette! 

There  is  Greene,  a  genius,  a  scholar,  a  soldier,  great  among  the 
great.  Strange  to  see  the  son  of  a  New  England  Quaker  preacher 
lending  troops  to  battle!  Hurrah  for  Nathaniel  Greene! 

There  is  young  Hamilton,  the  trusted  secretary  of  General  Wash- 


50  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

ington,  destined  to  win  an  illustrious  name  in  his  country's  annals. 
There  is  Knox,  the  immortal  hero  of  the  cannon;  there  is  brave  Stir 
ling:  there  is  the  impetuous  Wayne,  "  Mad  Anthony/'  the  idol  of  his 
followers;  there  is  Count  Pulaski,  who,  having  fought  in  vain  to  save 
his  country  from  a  tyrant's  grasp,  has  come  to  aid  this  struggling 
land,  and  to  find  in  it  a  hero's  grave;  there  is  DeKalb,  another  brave 
soldier  from  foreign  shores,  who  brings  his  sword  to  aid  the  patriots. 
Never  again  shall  he  behold  his  native  land.  Hurrah,  for  each  and 
all!  Look  not  for  Sullivan;  for  he  upon  whom  the  heaviest  burden 
of  the  coming  battle  is  to  fall  is  not  with  the  army  to-day. 

And  so  they  pass.  It  is  impossible  to  point  out  all  the  noted 
ones.  Those  having  friends  in  the  city  are  on  the  watch  for  them, 
and  are  easily  recognized  and  warmly  greeted. 

Many  of  Edward  Love's  acquaintances  in  the  ranks  look  at  the 
familiar  shop  and  wave  a  salute.  C'assie  and  Hilda  strain  every  nerve 
to  see  the  two  faces  for  which  they  long. 

"  Cassie,  there's  Jo,"  cries  Hilda,  "  fourth  man  from  the  other 
side  in  that  third  row  back." 

"  So  it  is,  Hilda,"  said  Edward  Love,  answering  for  Cassie.  And 
at  the  same  moment  Jo  sees  them  and  answers  their  signals  till  he  is 
too  far  past  to  look  back. 

"  ( 'assie,  he  looks  well,  very  well,"  says  Edward.  "  Don't  worry 
about  him,  child;  this  war  won't  last  forever,"  and  Edward  again 
bends  his  searching  eyes  upon  the  procession. 

Several  lines  pass,  and  every  now  and  then  Hilda  thinks  she  sees 
Richard  Thorpe,  but  finds  she  is  mistaken. 

"  There's  Richard,"  cries  Edward,  ''  in  the  middle  of  that  fourth 
row — he's  waving  to  us." 

Hilda  hardly  believes  it,  but  in  an  instant  she  catches  sight  of 
him  waving  his  hat  and  smiling  in  his  own  manly,  cheerful  way,  yet 
looking  older  and  thinner. 

Soon  after  that  they  see  John  Peters,  waving  his  hat  tremen 
dously,  and  Jerusha  says,  "Humph!  he'd  as  soon  be  in  war  as  on  his 
farm." 

Though  the  troops  went  at  a  quick  pace,  and  the  army  wagons 
had  been  sent  by  a  different  road,  more  than  two  hours  were  con- 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  51 

sumed  in  the  passing.     The  excitement  did  not  subside  till  long  after 
the  last  regiment  had  left  the  city. 

Within  two  days  from  that  time  came  the  tidings  that  the  Con 
tinental  Army  had  encamped  at  Wilmington,  and  that  the  British 
fleet  had  anchored  at  the  head  of  the  Elk  River,  fifty  miles  from 
Philadelphia. 

During  the  next  two  weeks  it  seemed  to  Hilda  that  nothing  hap 
pened.  Hours  of  suspense  succeeded  one  another;  doubts  and  hopes 
and  fears  struggled  together.  It  was  indeed  a  gloomy  time.  Between 
the  British  and  Philadelphia  lay  an  easy  march — a  road  inhabited 
largely  by  Quakers,  who  would  make  no  resistance.  The  Committee 
of  Public  Safety  required  assurance  from  every  person  that  he  or  she 
would  not  furnish  the  enemy  with  information. 

Rumors  came  that  a  battle  was  imminent,  and  Congress  and  the 
public  authorities  prepared  to  leave  the  city.  Then  came  the  memor 
able  day  when  the  noise  of  the  cannon  at  the  Brandywine  was  heard, 
from  the  middle  of  the  morning  until  nightfall,  and  all  houses  were 
closed  by  order  of  the  crier. 

Edward  Love  was  in  the  streets  all  that  day,  waiting  with  other 
men  for  the  first  authentic  rumors  of  defeat  or  victory.  Every  man 
carried  a  gun.  Late  in  the  evening  a  horseman  galloped  down  Chest 
nut  Street,  but  he  would  give  no  answer  to.  the  questioners  besieging 
him  as  he  passed.  His  silence  was  ominous.  Not  in  that  way  would 
he  bring  news  of  an  American  victory.  Men  followed  him  desper 
ately  to  Fourth  Street,  where  a  crowd  had  gathered  at  the  "  Indian 
Queen  " 

At  the  public  house  the  rider  checked  his  horse  and  would  have 
dismounted  in  silence,  but  the  crowd  would  not  let  him.  "  Tell  your 
news!  "  "  Let's  hear  the  worst!  "  "  Unlock  your  mouth!  "  "  Where 
was  the  battle?  "  "Answer  us!  "  different  voices  shouted. 

The  horseman  lifted  his  right  hand  as  a  signal  for  silence,  and 
then  in  a  loud  tone,  to  satisfy  the  farthest  edges  of  the  crowd,  he 
answered  them. 

"  The  battle  was  at  Chadd's  Ford— the  British  have  the  victory. 
More  than  a  thousand  of  our  men  are  dead  on  the  field;  the  Marquis 
de  Lafayette  is  wounded." 

Groans,  murmurs,  and  imprecations  filled  the  air  as  the  man, 


52  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

\veary  with  his  hard  ride  and  dispirited  because  he  knew  he  was  the 
bearer  of  hateful  tidings,  dismounted  and  pushed  his  way  into  the 
tavern.  Some  of  the  crowd  followed  him;  others  stayed  to  discuss 
the  situation. 

"  Gurney,"  said  Edward  Love,  to  a  man  standing  near  him,  -i  you 
can  quiet  the  crowd,  perhaps;  speak  to  them." 

So  addressed,  Henry  Gurney  stepped  upon  a  settee  in  front  of 
the  "  Indian  Queen,"  some  of  the  crowd  stepping  down  to  give  him 
a  chance,  and  called  out,  "  Neighbors,  do  you  all  know  me?" 

A  number  of  voices  answered,  "  Gurney;  Henry  Gurney,"  and  one 
man  added,  "  an  Englishman." 

"Right!  I  am  Henry  Gurney,  an  Englishman,  but  Philadel 
phia  is  my  home,  and  in  Philadelphia  are  all  my  interests.  I  shall 
be  true  to  Philadelphia.  I  want  to  tell  you  that  in  spite  of  the  bad 
news  you  have  just  heard,  you  need  not  be  cast  down.  I  am  sure  that 
even  if  General  Howe's  troops  come  into  the  city,  they  will  harm 
neither  it  nor  its  inhabitants.  Do  nothing  to  provoke  them — a  hand 
ful  cannot  withstand  an  army;  submission  is  sometimes  more  manly 
than  resistance.  I  advise  you  that  when  the  troops  enter  you  keep 
your  nouses  closed,  and  if  you  come  into  the  streets,  come  well- 
dressed,  quiet  and  respectful  in  bearing.  I  am  sure  no  violence  will 
be  offered  to  you  if  you  are  prudent.  Xow  " — he  paused  as  if  doubt 
ful  whether  he  ought  to  say  more,  and  then  he  added — "  I  bid  you 
good-night." 

"  Thanks,  Gurney,"  said  Edward  Love,  as  Gurney  stepped  down. 
"  The  value  of  '  a  word  fitly  spoken  '  was  appraised  long  ago." 

The  men  began  to  disperse  in  order  to  carry  the  news  home,  and 
in  many  houses  that  night  was  heard  the  voice  of  lamentation;  lam 
entation  for  the  thousand  dead  men  on  the  field  of  battle,  and  for  the 
prospect  of  the  enemy's  invasion. 

Hilda  Sedgeley  sat  white  and  awestruck  at  the  news.  Rachel 
Fuller  said,  "  This  is  one  of  the  chances  of  war."  Jerusha  Lightfoot 
said,  "  I've  been  collectin'  a  little  pile  of  stones  in  the  kitchen  cup 
board,  and  I've  got  all  the  pokers  and  shovels  together,  and  I'll  never 
let  a  Britisher  inside  of  this  house  unless  Miss  Rachel  tells  me  to  open 
the  door." 

Two  weeks  later  the  British  army  encamped  at  Germantown,  and 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  53 

the  next  day  Lord  Cornwallis  headed  the  splendid  troops  that  entered 
Philadelphia.  Rachel  Fuller  would  not  close  her  shutters.  "  Let 
my  house  wear  its  daily  aspect,  Edward,  though  I  shall  not  look  out 
to  see  the  troops."  Edward  Love  had  closed  his  shop  for  the  day, 
thinking  he  might  be  needed  at  home.  So  he  stood  with  Hilda  and 
Jerusha  at  the  second  story  window  of  Rachael  Fuller's  house,  to  look 
at  the  passing  troops. 

"  They  are  comin'  right  peaceable  like,"  said  Jerusha.  "  They 
don't  seem  to  be  shootin'  at  nobody,  nor  cuttin'  with  their  swords. 
Mebbe,  though,  they're  just  savin'  their  strength  till  they  have  time 
to  look  about  'em." 

"  Oh,  look  at  this  horse!  "  said  Hilda,  in  a  tone  of  alarm.  Directly 
in  front  of  the  house,  at  some  movement  of  the  troops,  or  a  sudden 
flourish  of  the  trumpets,  a  horse  had  taken  fright  and  plunged  wildly 
toward  the  sidewalk.  His  rider,  a  young  officer,  who  seemed  in  no  way 
disconcerted,  showed  skill  in  managing  him,  but  the  horse  stumbled 
suddenly  and  fell  on  his  side,  pinning  his  rider  to  the  ground. 

A  halt  was  called,  the  horse  was  raised  and  found  to  be  unhurt, 
but  the  young  officer  lay  motionless.  A  superior  officer  gave  com 
mands  to  half  a  dozen  soldiers,  who  surrounded  their  fallen  comrade, 
the  rest  marching  on. 

The  men  made  an  effort  to  lift  the  young  officer,  but  they  saw 
it  would  not  be  wise  to  carry  him  in  that  manner.  Quick  as  thought, 
one  of  them  stepped  over  the  railing  of  the  little  balcony  in  front  of 
Rachel  Fuller's  parlor,  and  lifted  a  shutter  from  one  of  the  windows, 
all  the  shutters  of  the  neighboring  houses  being  closed.  The  officer 
was  laid  upon  the  shutter,  and  then  one  of  the  men  stepped  to 
Rachel's  door,  and  sounded  the  knocker.  Edward  Love  and  Jerusha 
hurried  down  stairs,  and  quickly  told  Rachel  what  had  happened. 
She  and  Edward  hurried  to  the  door,  while  Jerusha  hovered  in  the 
background,  uncertain  whether  or  not  the  moment  had  come  to  have 
recourse  to  the  stones  in  the  kitchen  cupboard. 

"  Madam,"  said  the  soldier  bowing  courteously,  "  we  must  take 
the  liberty  of  bringing  this  officer  into  your  house.  Quarters  have 
not  yet  been  assigned  us,  and  he  needs  immediate  attention." 

"  My  house  is  at  the  service  of  those  who  need  it,"  answered 
Rache,] 


14  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

As  the  men  were  lifting  their  burden,  Edward  said  to  Rachel, 
"  Better  take  him  to  my  room." 

"  Yes,  Edward,  if  thee  will  take  Hilda's  room,  she  will  come  into 
mine/' 

Edward  led  the  way  to  the  second-story  back  room,  and  before 
half  an  hour  had  passed,  the  young  officer  was  resting  in  bed,  and 
Rachel  and  Jerusha  were  assisting  the  soldiers  in  their  efforts  to  re 
lieve  his  sufferings. 


CHAPTER  X. 

PATCHWORK. 

"  There's  a  new  face  at  the  door,  my  friend, 
And  a  new  foot  on  the  floor,  my  friend." 

— Tennyson. 

THE  life  of  the  British  in  Philadelphia  is  a  matter  of  history, 
and  need  not  be  detailed  in  this  chronicle  of  a  private  household. 
The  soldiers  were  quartered  in  various  parts  of  the  city — some  in 
public  buildings,  some  in  private  houses,  where  they  were  not  always 
welcome  guests.  The  streets  were  at  all  times  full  of  soldiers,  and 
there  were  parades  morning  and  evening.  The  royalists  kept  open 
house,  and  theatrical  performances  and  social  entertainments  so  occu 
pied  the  British  officers  that  they  made  no  strong  •  efforts  to  accom 
plish  anything  in  the  field. 

To  be  sure,  eight  days  after  they  entered  the  city  the  noise  of 
the  cannon  came  from  Germantown,  and  Cornwallis  quickly  dis 
patched  some  of  his  troops  through  the  thick  morning  fog  to  the 
scene  of  battle,  and  in  the  evening  the  wounded  and  the  prisoners  were 
brought  in;  but  this  event  made  little  apparent  change  within  the 
precincts  of  the  city. 

Two  weeks  later,  the  glow  of  royalist  satisfaction  was  considerably 
overcast  by  the  news  that  six  thousand  men  under  General  Burgoyne 
had  surrendered  to  General  Gates  at  Saratoga;  but  the  cloud  passed 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  55 

away  in  a  short  time,  the  substantial  delights  of  the  present  causing 
oblivion  to  past  discomforts  and  indifference  to  future  uncertainties. 

And  how  fared  it  with  Rachel  Fuller's  household?  The  young 
lieutenant,  whose  name  was  George  Raymond,  stayed  there  many 
weeks.  His  regiment  was  quartered  in  High  Street  near  Fif.h,  a:id 
several  soldiers  took  turns  in  coming  to  nurse  him;  so  his  presence  in 
the  house  was  no  serious  tax  upon  Rachel  Fuller.  But  the  stranger 
had  a  decided  effect  upon  Jerusha  Lightfoot:  her  tongue  was  loosened. 

u  Seems  like  that  young  man  ain't  no  extra  burden,  Hilda,"  said 
she  one  morning,  when  the  lieutenant  had  been  there  about  six  weeks. 
"  Beyond  Mr.  Edward  givin'  up  his  room,  and  you  asleepin  with  your 
aunt  Rachel,  the  lieutenant  ain't  made  no  change  in  the  house.  It  does 
putter  me  out  to  think  that  before  them  British  come  to  town  I  looked 
on  'em  as  sort  o'  monsters:  and  yet  this  young  man  has  behaved  himself 
so  decent  that  I  feel  dead  sure  lots  of  'em  have  come  to  this  war  just 
because  King  George  sent  'em,  and  not  because  they're  full  of  spite 
and  hate  agen  us." 

"  Well,  Jerusha,"  answered  Hilda,  "  you  have  seen  more  of  the 
lieutenant  than  the  rest  of  us  have,  so  we  will  take  your  word  for  it." 

"  He  only  eats  a  little  mite  of  our  food,  just  so  we  shan't  feel 
hurt,  and  he  gets  his  biggest  eatin'  from  trie  soldiers." 

"  It's  a  mercy  that  he  does,"  said  Hilda,  "  when  provisions  are  so 
dear." 

"  People  never  know  what's  before  'em,"  observed  Jerusha,  with 
the  air  of  a  philosopher  making  an  original  statement:  "and  we  don't 
know  what  we  can  bear  till  we're  tried.  'Taint  every  city  that  could 
keep  up  with  sixty  vessels  hemmin'  it  in  on  the  Delaware,  and  no  pro 
visions  comin'  in." 

"  0,  a  ship  of  provisions  for  the  British  came  in  a  few  days  ago," 
interrupted  Hilda. 

"Humph  !  it'll  save  'em  eatin'  our  food."  ansAvered  Jerusha. 
"  Heart  alive!  T  never  thought  to  see  the  day  when  I'd  be  a  drinkin' 
tea  made  of  dried  raspberry  leaves  and  dried  clover  blossoms  at  mv 
meals,  and  not  only  be  a  drinkin'  it  myself  but  a  servin'  it  on  Miss 
Rachel's  table  as  if  it  was  real  tea." 

"And  dear  old  Fido,"  said  Hilda,  hugging  him,  "you  never 
thought  to  see  the  time  when  you  couldn't  get  a  taste  of  meat,  except 


56  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

once  in  a  while  a  soup  bone,  did  you?  And  you  never  thought  to  see 
the  time  when  you  wouldn't  be  allowed  to  bark  at  strange  soldiers 
walking  in  and  out  our  front  door,  did  you?'' 

"  There's  one  thing  I'd  like  to  know/'  resumed  Jerusha,  "  that  is, 
whether  the  big  officers  has  real  tea  in  their  quarters.  Somehow,  I  mis 
trust  about  General  Howe  settin'  down  reg'lar  to  steeped  raspberries 
or  boiled  sage." 

"  Why  don't  you  ask  the  lieutenant,  Jerusha?" 

"  I  did  ask  him,  Hilda,  and  he  laughed  and  said  he  didn't  know. 
But  of  course  he  knows.  The  big  officers  can't  do  nothin'  that  the 
whole  army  doesn't  know  about,  only  Lieutenant  Raymond  don't  like 
to  hurt  our  feelin's." 

"  There's  the  front  door,"  said  Hilda,  as  a  slight  noise  was  heard, 
"  the  soldiers  have  gone  out  now." 

"  I  s'pose  they've  fixed  him  for  the  mornin'  then,  and  I  can  go  u^ 
and  put  his  room  in  order,"  said  Jerusha,  starting  up  stairs. 

"  Settin'  up,  are  ye?"  said  she  to  the  young  officer,  as  she  entered 
his  room. 

"  Yes,  Jerusha,  I'm  not  going  to  stay  in  bed  any  longer,  but  it 
may  be  a  good  while  before  I  am  able  to  walk  about.  You  must  ask 
Miss  Fuller  to  come  and  see  the  improvement." 

"  She's  gone  out,"  answered  Jerusha.  "  She's  gone  to  see  sick 
folks  at  the  almshouse." 

"  She's  a  good  woman,  Jerusha." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Jerusha,  with  much  energy.  "I've  lived 
with  her  more  than  ten  years,  and  I  never  heard  her  say  a  mean  word 
and  I  never  knowed  her  do  a  mean  tiling.  Some  folks  gets  cross  when 
they  work,  and  you  don't  dare  speak  to  'em  because  they're  busy;  but 
she  can  work  without  bein'  cross;  you  can  always  speak  to  her.  And 
she  goes  to  see  the  sick,  but  she  never  goes  a  runnin'  when  she  ought 
to  be  at  home." 

"  Well,  you  have  given  her  a  noble  character,  Jerusha,  and  I  have 
no  doubt  she  deserves  it." 

"  I'm  a  wonderin',  Lieutenant  Raymond,  what  you're  goin'  to  do 
with  yourself,  settin'  there  doin'  nothin'." 

"  That  bothers  me,  too,  Jerusha.  I'm  well  enough  now  to  want 
to  do  something.  Can  you  give  me  any  work?  " 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  57 

"  Could  you  piece  a  quilt?  "  asked  Jerusha. 

Lieutenant  Raymond  was  startled  at  this  unexpected  question. 
It  seemed  that  by  his  idle  offer  of  service  he  had  been  suddenly  en 
trapped.  He  laughed,  and  said,  "  I'm  not  sure — 

"  Like  this,"  said  Jerusha,  pointing  to  the  quilt  on  the  bed. 
"  Could  you  sew  pieces  of  prints  together?''  She  looked  at  him,  as 
if  she  would  judge  his  whole  character  by  his  answer. 

"  I  might,"  he  said  slowly.  "  if  you  will  show  me." 

"  Well,  now,  thai  s  somethin'  like.  You  might  be  able  to  get  a 
whole  quilt  pieced  if  you  work  steady  and  set  there  long  enough.  I'll 
bring  some  pieces  when  I  get  done  my  work.  It's  not  '  log  cabin,'  it's 
just  '  squares'." 

The  young  man  was  amused,  and  was  also  puzzled  to  know  how 
he  should  stand  the  ordeal.  The  words  "  log  cabin  "  and  "  squares  " 
presented  very  vague  meanings  to  him.  "  You  or  Miss  Fuller  will  have 
to  sit  with  me  when  I  work,"  said  he;  "I  could  not  sew  alone." 

"  I  don't  sew  much  at  quilts  except  in  the  evenin's,  and  then  you 
don't  need  company,  for  the  soldiers  is  mostly  with  you  in  the  evenin's. 
Mebbe  sometimes  Hilda  would  come  in,  but  I  mistrust  that." 

"Who  is  Hilda?" 

"  She's  Miss  Rachel's  niece." 

"  0,  please  ask  her  to  come,  if  only  for  half  an  hour  a  day.  I'll 
sew  hard  if  you  provide  me  with  company." 

"  Well,  I'll  see,"  said  Jerusha  in  a  non-committal  way,  as  she  left 
the  room. 

Fortunately  for  the  lieutenant's  cause,  Hilda  had  been  invited  to 
spend  the  morning  and  take  dinner  with  Cassie  Lake.  Ever  since  Jo's 
departure  Cassie  had  been  living  with  her  mother,  just  around  the 
corner  from  Rachel  Fuller's,  so  the  two  young  girls  were  often  to 
gether.  They  never  took  long  walks  together  any  more,  for  the  city 
was  full  of  soldiers,  but  they  traversed  freely  the  short  distance  be 
tween  the  two  houses. 

Jerusha  took  advantage  of  Hilda's  absence,  when  Rachel  and 
Edward  were  seated  at  dinner,  to  present  the  lieutenant's  case.  "  It's 
come  into  my  head  how  as  we  can  make  good  use  of  that  young  man 
upstairs.  He's  desperate  lonely  when  the  soldiers  ain't  here,  and  they 
ain't  here  so  much  now  that  he  ain't  so  helpless,  and  he's  desperate 


58  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

anxious  for  somethin'  to  do.  He's  full  willin'  to  sew  quilt  pieces,  which 
I'll  show  him  how  to  do,  if  he  can  have  company  while  he  works.  And 
I  don't  see  hut  what  it  would  be  good  to  ask  Hilda  to  go  and  set  with 
him  sometimes,  taking  her  work  while  he  has  his." 

"Has  thee  spoken  to  Hilda?"  asked  Rachel.  And  at  the  same 
time  Edward  said,  "  I  am  afraid  it  would  not  do." 

"  No,  ma'am,  I  would  not  say  a  word  to  Hilda  till  I  had  asked  you; 
but  if  you  think  about  it  you  won't  see  no  objections.  Hilda's  not  the 
kind  of  a  girl  to  look  bold  doin'  a  thing  like  that,  and  she'd  take  no 
fancy  to  him,  she's  so  set  agen  the  British.  And,  Miss  Rachel,  you'd 
be  in  and  out  some,  and  when  you  were  not  I  could  hover,  so  as  he 
could  know  we  was  doin'  this  out  of  pure  kindness  to  him  and  a  desire 
to  get  a  quilt  pieced,  and  not  to  give  him  a  chance  to  talk  to  a  girl." 

"  Well,  Jerusha,  we  will  talk  about  it,"  said  Rachel,  and  Jerusha 
left  the  room. 

"  I  would  not  do  anything  that  might  lead  to  a  friendship  between 
Hilda  and  a  foreign  soldier,"  said  Edward. 

"Nor  I,  Edward:  but  we  might  ask  Cassie  Lake  to  come  in  the 
afternoons  and  bring  her  work,  and  then  she  and  Hilrla  could  go  to 
gether  to  the  lieutenant's  room,  and  the  conversation  would  be  general. 
I  would  take  my  work  in,  too,  when  I  could,  and  in  this  way  we  could 
give  the  young  man  pleasant  company.  It  might  do  him  much  good, 
and  do  us  no  harm." 

"  In  that  way  the  plan  does  not  sound  so  objectionable,  Rachel, 
but  it  will  be  a  great  responsibility  for  thee." 

"  Yes,  but  I  am  willing  to  accept  it,  and  I  think  no  harm  will 
come  of  it." 

So  Rachel  went  around  to  Eriend  Armstrong's  and  told  the  plan 
to  Cassie's  mother  and  the  two  girls.  Hilda  said  she  would  if  Cassie 
would,  and  Cassie  said  she  didn't  mind  it  if  Hilda  didn't,  so  Jerusha 
and  Lieutenant  Raymond  triumphed. 

The  next  afternoon  Rachel  Fuller  was  called  out  because  of  the 
sudden  illness  of  an  aged  Friend  in  the  neighborhood,  so  Jerusha  es 
corted  Cassie  and  Hilda  to  the  lieutenant's  room'. 

"Are  ye  wantin'  company,  Lieutenant  Raymond?"  said  Jerusha, 
when  she  had  obeyed  the  lieutenant's  invitation  to  "  come  in." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 


59 


"  Yes,  indeed,  Jerusha,"  and  the  pale  face  lighted  up  with  pleas 
ure. 

"  This  is  Mrs.  Lake  and  Miss  Sedgeley,"  said  Jerusha,  inwardly 
amazed  at  the  ease  with  which  she  pronounced  their  titles  for  the 
first  time  in  her  life. 

"  Mrs.  Lake — Miss  Sedgeley,"  said  the  lieutenant,  smiling  and 
bowing;  "  I  am  sorry  that  I  can 
not   rise   and   play   the   part   of 
courteous  host  by  placing  chairs 
for  you." 

They  seated  themselves 
while  Jerusha  said,  "  Indeed, 
Lieutenant  Raymond,  you  may 
be  sure  if  you  was  able  to  rise 
and  play  the  part  of  '  courteous 
host '  they  wouldn't  be  a  visitin' 
ye." 

This  remark  broke  the  ice, 
and  they  all  laughed. 

"  Don't  forget  that  you've 
promised  to  sew  what  I  showed 
you  yesterday,"  said  Jerusha,  as 
she  left  the  room. 

"  Sew?  "  said  Hilda,  inquir 
ingly,  for  the  lieutenant's  part  of 
the  program  had  not  been  ex 
plained  by  her  aunt  Rachel. 

"  Miss  Sedgeley,  pity  me," 
said  the  lieutenant,  lifting  some 
papers  from  the  table  and  dis 
closing  a  pile  of  patches,  a  large  thimble,  a  needle  and  thread.     "  She 
expects  me  to  sew  things  together  so  that  the  result  will  be  a  quilt." 

The  girls  laughed  heartily.  "  She  began  this  patch  for  me,"  con 
tinued  the  young  man,  "  so  I  must  try  to.  sew  two  or  three  bits  to 
gether,  or  she  will  lose  faith  in  me." 

This  was  the  beginning  of  the  pleasant  intercourse  with  Lieu 
tenant  Raymond,  which  continued  for  several  weeks.  He  became 


60  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

better  acquainted  with  Hilda  than  if  he  had  seen  her  alone.  Alone 
with  him  she  would  have  felt  embarrassed,  but  in  the  presence  of 
others  she  could  converse  freely  with  him  and  was  her  natural  self. 
He  told  them  of  England  and  of  his  home.  His  father  was  dead;  he 
had  two  elder  sisters  married  to  country  gentlemen,  and  they  were 
leaders  in  the  society  of  their  neighborhood.  His  mother  divided  her 
time  between  the  houses  of  her  daughters,  "  and,"  said  the  lieutenant, 
"  I  am  left  pretty  much  to  myself.  The  old  house  is  mine,  but  I  have 
a  tenant  in  it,  and  I  am  a  homeless  wanderer/' 

The  young  man  made  friends  with  Fido  and  Fairy,  and  taught 
them  new  tricks.  He  sewed  laboriously  at  his  patchwork,  much  to 
Jerusha's  satisfaction.  He  inferred,  from  something  that  was  said, 
that  Cassie's  husband  was  in  the  army,  but  he  asked  no  questions  and 
the  girls  never  spoke  to  him  of  private  affairs.  Jerusha  bore  testi 
mony  afterward  that  "  he  was  a  gentleman  anyhow,  for  he  never  tried 
to  get  no  family  secrets  out  o'  me  underhand erl." 

So  while  his  brother  officers  and  his  superiors  were  enjoying  the 
freedom  of  the  city,  Lieutenant  Raymond  was  enjoying  a  home  whose 
atmosphere  was  simple,  yet  refined;  whose  inmates  lived  without  osten 
tation,  without  formality,  yet  with  perfect  courtesy;  with  dignified 
resignation  to  trial,  with  serene  hope  for  the  future. 

It  was  his  first  experience  of  a  home  of  this  sort,  and  it  roused 
his  best  emotions.  The  soldiers  brought  him  stories  of  gallant  adven 
tures  in  the  city,  but  he  felt  no  desire  to  leave  his  peaceful  haven. 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  61 


CHAPTER  XI. 

A  SKILLFUL  ARTIST. 

"  How  the  world  is  made  for  each  of  us." 

—Robert  Browning. 

A  FEW  days  before  Christmas  George  Raymond  was  able  to  leave 
Rachel  Fuller's  house,  and  go  to  the  quarters  of  his  regiment. 

"  Miss  Fuller,  will  you  give  me  permission  to  call  some  evening, 
to  see  how  your  household  fares?  "  he  asked  at  parting. 

•'  We  shall  be  pleased  to  see  thee,  George  Raymond,  if  thee  cares 
to  come/'  answered  Rachel.  He  thanked  her  gracefully,  and  took  his 
leave. 

There  were  no  Christmas  festivities  in  the  homes  of  the  patriots 
that  year.  "Even  the  Christmas  service  does  not  seem  quite  the 
same,  Hilda,"  said  Edward  Love,  as  they  walked  home  from  church. 
"  I  miss  my  good  friend,  Mr.  "White,  more  than  ever  in  to-day's  service, 
and  am  less  able  to  feel  resigned  to  the  presence  of  the  British 
preacher.  I  hope  the  New  Year  will  bring  a  change  for  the  better. 
I  wish  Washington's  men  were  in  a  condition  to  attack  the  city." 

"  But  that  would  mean  fighting,  Cousin  Edward,"  said  Hilda, 
with  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"  Yes,  child,  but  the  struggle  would  be  over  the  sooner.  This 
delay  does  not  help  matters  much;  it  merely  prolongs  suspense.  There 
is  much  dissatisfaction  with  Washington's  present  course,  but  I  dare 
say  he  knows  the  condition  of  his  troops  better  than  we  can  know  it." 

Late  in  January,  1778,  came  a  letter  from  Richard  Thorpe  to 
Edward  Love,  enclosing  the  following  one  to  Hilda: 

DEAR  FRIEND  HILDA: — 

It  seems  a  weary  while  since  I  had  a  Letter  from  you,  three 
whole  months.  I  know  you  have  written,  but  the  Letters  have 
not  come  to  hand.  I  cannot  write  Freely,  for  this  may  not 
reach  you  but  fall  into  the  hands  of  strangers.  I  need  hardly 
tell  you  what  you  know  so  well,  that  you  are  constantly  in  my 
mind.  Yet  I  can  say  without  boasting  that  the  sufferings  of 
this  Winter  have  taught  me  Patience  and  have  shewn  me  what 
5 


62  THE  SILVER  BUCKLED 

men  can  bear.  We  came  to  Valley  Forge  Decemb'  ye  19,  puorly 
clad,  and  with  small  stock  of  Provisions.  At  first  we  slept  upon 
the  hillside,  though  the  weather  was  Bitter  and  the  ground 
frozen  hard.  I  with  three  others  had  one  Blanket  between  us, 
which  we  put  over  our  feet.  As  soon  as  we  were  able  we  cut 
down  the  trees  of  the  Forest,  and  built  log  huts  to  shelter  u>. 
Can  you  imagine  a  little  town  of  log  hut<?  But  even  yet  on  the 
very  cold  nights  we  sleep  sitting  up  around  the  fires.  We  bake 
cakes  made  of  flour  and  water.  1  will  not  distress  you  by  giv 
ing  a  full  account  of  our  sufferings.  We  hope  that  the  Worst  is 
over.  \Ve  have  Shelter  and  by  going  to  the  neighboring  wood 
we  can  get  Fuel.  We  are  still  confident  of  Success,  and  know 
that  our  Cause  is  just.  A  German  Baron  is  coming  to  our  camp, 
named  Steuben;  he  is  a  soldier,  and  in  the  Spring  he  will  train 
us  as  soldiers  are  trained  in  Europe.  That  will  prepare  us  bet 
ter.  This  War  will  not  last  Forever,  and  when  it  is  over  if  you 
will  give  me  your  Hand  I  will  devote  my  life  to  you.  But  if 
your  Heart  is  inclined  to  another,  1  shall  try  to  bear  my  loss 
with  Fortitude. 

Ever  Yours,  R.  T. 

After  the  receipt  of  this  letter  Hilda  felt  that  she  could  never 
bear  to  see  Lieutenant  Raymond  again.  The  British  soldiers  were 
living  in  ease  and  comfort,  while  the  American  troops  were  enduring 
hardships  which  they  dared  not  recount. 

Then  her  reason  told  her  that  Lieutenant  Raymond  was  not  to 
blame,  nor  were  any  of  the  British  soldiers  individually:  these  situa 
tions  were  simply  the  chances  of  war. 

So  when  the  lieutenant  spent  an  hour  at  Rachel  Fuller's  house, 
Hilda  made  one  of  the  family  group.  He  did  not  come  often,  but  he 
was  always  courteous  and  affable:  and  though  Edward  Love  disliked 
the  regiment  as  a  whole  more  and  more  each  day,  he  had  no  cause  to 
dislike  Lieutenant  Raymond  personally.  The  lieutenant  often  went 
to  Edward's  shop  and  seemed  anxious  to  win  his  esteem. 

One  February  morning  Jerusha  was  scrubbing  the  front  steps 
when  the  lieutenant  came  along. 

"Good  morning,  Jerusha,"  said  he,  "all  well  in  the  household?  " 

"All  as  usual,  lieutenant.     Are  ye  com  in'  in?" 

"  Xot  this  morning,  Jerusha;  I  have  some  work  to  do." 

Jernsha  gave  him  an  incredulous  glance,  and  he  added,  "It's  not 
sewing,  it's  painting.  You  didn't  know  that  I  could  paint,  did  you?  " 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  63 

"Doors  or  shutters?"  asked  Jerusha. 

"  Neither,  Jerusha;  it's  trees  and  palaces." 

Hilda,  dusting  the  parlor,  heard  the  conversation,  and  was  amused 
by  it.  Jerusha  scrubbed  vigorously  to  let  the  young  man  see  that  he 
could  not  jest  with  her. 

"  Well,  you  see,  Jerusha,  some  of  our  officers  are  fond  of  getting 
up  little  plays  for  amusement,  and  Major  Andre,  who  lives  over  there 
in  Mr.  Franklin's  house,  paints  the  scenery  for  the  stage.  But  he  is 
sick  to-day,  and  he  wants  help  from  anyone  who  can  give  it;  so  my 
regiment  sent  me  to  help  him." 

"Humph!  I've  heard  of  stages  and  scenery,  but  I  don't  know 
what  they  are,  and  I  don't  want  to  know.  You'd  better  let  'em  alone." 

"  0,  I'm  not  going  to  let  them  harm  me,"  said  the  young  man, 
reassuringly.  "  By  the  way,  Jerusha,  wouldn't  you  like  to  have  your 
portrait  painted?  I  can  paint  portraits,  and  I  should  be  so  glad  to  do 
something  in  return  for  all  your  goodness  to  me." 

This  masterly  stroke  of  diplomacy  completely  conquered  Jerusha. 
"Would  ye,  really?"  said  she.  "But  no,  I  can't  see  no  reason  in 
bavin'  your  portrait  painted  if  you're  not  handsome.  I  couldn't  abear 
to  die  and  leave  it  hangin'  on  the  wall.  If  ye  die  without  a  portrait 
folks  don't  remember  exactly  what  ye  looked  like,  and  they  think  ye 
was  handsomer  than  ye  really  was,  and  speak  of  your  comeliness.  Now 
my  father  was  a  handsome  man;  for  twenty  years  I've  been  a-wishin' 
I  had  a  portrait  o'  him.  If  you  could  do  a  portrait  o'  him — 

"Does  he  live  here?"  asked  the  lieutenant,  slightly  puzzled  by 
the  seeming  discrepancy  of  her  remarks. 

"Live  here?  He  died  twenty-five  year  ago  in  England.  But 
mebbe  if  I  tell  you  how  he  looked— 

"Yes,  yes,  Jerusha,  certainly;  I  think  I  could  paint  your  father's 
portrait.  I'll  come  one  afternoon  a  week.  The  days  are  growing 
longer,  and  I  shall  have  a  good  chance." 

"  That'll  suit  me  fine,  lieutenant,  for  in  the  afternoon  I  often 
have  settin'-down  work,  like  sewing;  and  I  could  attend  to  the  picture. 
Only  I  must  speak  to  Miss  Each  el  first;  I  won't  do  it  if  she's  not 
willin'." 

"Very  well,  Jerusha;  I'll  call  soon  to  find  out  when  we  are  to 
begin  the  portrait.  Good  morning." 


64  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

In  a  short  time  the  portrait  was  begun,  for  Rachel  Fuller  could 
not  refuse  the  only  favor  Jerusha  had  asked  for  herself  for  years.  The 
*'  sittings "  or  "  hearings/'  as  Hilda  called  them,  took  place  in  the 
dining-room,  and  enlivened  many  hours  that  might  otherwise  have 
been  sad. 

"  Before  I  fix  the  canvas,  Jerusha,  give  me  an  idea  how  large 
you  would  like  it,"  said  the  lieutenant,  deferentially. 

•'  I  went  up  to  the  attic  this  mornin',  lieutenant,  and  got  an  old 
gilt  frame  that  used  to  be  on  a  mirror,  and  I'll  have  it  that  size,  be 
cause  the  frame  is  ready.  I'll  fetch  it." 

"  Miss  Sedgeley,"  said  the  young  man,  "  you  must  do  all  in  your 
power  to  help  me  through  this  ordeal.  Don't  desert  me,  will  you?  " 

"  I  won't  desert  you,  lieutenant;  I  am  too  anxious  to  see  how  you 
will  manage." 

"  Encouraged  by  your  presence,  Miss  Sedgeley,  I  am  confident  of 
success.  Ah,  Jerusha,  is  this  the  frame?  This  is  excellent  for  size; 
just  right  for  a  portrait.  Now,  then,  give  me  a  general  idea  of  your 
father's  features." 

"  He  had  a  mod'rate  sized  head,  his  face  was  wide  across  the  upper 
part,  but  come  down  quite  narrow  to  the  chin;  always  had  a  good,  fresh 
color,  smooth  face,  ordinary  nose,  brown  eyes,  and  a  cheerful  smile." 

"  What  kind  of  hair  had  he?  " 

"  Hair?  Oray  with  some  dark  in  it,  a  little  thin  and  layin'  flat  to 
the  top  of  his  head,  but  thick  and  curly  round  the  lower  part.  He 
wore  a  brown  coat  and  waistcoat,  a  high  collar,  with  a  brown  necker 
chief  tied  in  a  large  bow." 

"  Well,"  said  the  lieutenant,  thoughtfully,  "  I  think  I  have  an 
idea  of  him.  I'll  begin  the  work,  but,  of  course,  you'll  have  to  tell 
me  these  things  again  as  I  go  on,  and  you'll  have  to  watch  and  tell 
mo  when  I  make  a  mistake." 

Xever  was  work  more  closely  scrutinized  than  that  portrait  from 
start  to  finish.  Jerusha  was  always  in  a  critical  mood,  and  yet  was 
pleased  with  the  artist's  progress.  He  did  not  work  regularly  at  the 
picture,  and  it  was  the  middle  of  April  before  it  was  ready  for  the  fin 
ishing  touches. 

During  one  of  these  last  "  hearings,"  when  the  air  was  full  of  the 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  65 

promises  of  spring,  the  lieutenant  said:  "  Miss  Sedgeley,  you  are  glad 
at  the  prospect  of  spring.  Has  the  winter  seemed  so  sad  to  you?  " 

"  I  have  never  liked  winter/'  said  Hilda,  "  and  this  winter  has 
been  specially  hard."  Jerusha  was  flitting  in  and  out  of  the  room. 

"Now,"  said  the  artist,  to  Jerusha,  ''  is  the  complexion  right?  " 

"  Face  ain't  fresh  enough." 

"  Well,  then,  I'll  soon  fix  that."  Then  he  continued  his  conver 
sation  with  Hilda.  "  The  miseries  of  war/'  he  said  gently,  "  are  mani 
fold  and  indescribable.  Our  men  have  felt  uncomfortable  this  winter 
many  times  at  the  knowledge  that  their  presence  in  the  city  must  seem 
like  an  insult  to  the  American  patriots." 

"  From  all  the  accounts  I  judge  that  the  British  have  borne  up 
nobly  under  their  discomfort,"  said  Hilda,  sarcastically. 

"  Jerusha,  how's  that?     What  next?  " 

"  Too  much  point  to  the  nose." 

"  0,  that's  easily  altered,"  and  he  proceeded  to  remove  the  ob 
jectionable  point.  "  Miss  Sedgeley,  you  are  not  so  unjust,  are  you, 
as  to  judge  all  our  men  by  the  actions  of  some?  The  circumstances 
of  this  winter  have  been  peculiar.  Consider,  too,  that  a  soldier's  life 
is  a  hard  one,  and  he  could  not  endure  it  as  he  does  if  he  did  not  take 
advantage  of  every  respite  allowed  him.  Now,  Jerusha?" 

"  It  seems  to  me  them  eyes  is  too  dark." 

"  I'll  make  them  lighter,  and  see  how  you  like  them.  Do  not 
imagine,  Miss  Sedgeley,  that  our  troops  in  general  feel  any  instinctive 
hatred  for  the  American  soldiers.  We  must  do  our  duty  in  the  ser 
vice  of  our  King,  but  I  think  I  may  say,  without  being  recreant  to 
duty,  that  most  of  us  have  a  feeling  of  admiration  for  your  soldiers, 
and  under  similar  circumstances  we  would  do  as  they  have  done. 
Jerusha,  what  is  your  opinion  now?" 

"  That  neckerchief  ain't  tied  stiff  enough,  and  the  bow  ought  to 
be  bigger." 

"  I  can  alter  it  in  a  few  minutes,  and  then  we'll  see.  T  suppose, 
Miss  Sedgeley,  Philadelphia  has  good  cause  to  remember  the  British 
soldiers  for  years  to  come,  but  I  can  assure  you  that  some  of  the  Brit 
ish  soldiers  will  remember  Philadelphia  as  long  as  they  live.  I,  for 
one  shall  always  retain  sweet  memories  of  this  household:  I  am  not 
yet  strong  enough  to  face  the  possibility  of  departure  from  this  city, 


CG 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 


and,  if  I  must  go,  I  shall  return  as  soon  as  possible."     He  looked  at  her 
earnestly. 

"  \\'e  hear  that  General  Howe  is  going  back  to  England,"  said 
Hilda,  desiring  to  keep  the  conversation  from  becoming  more  em 
barrassing. 

"  Yes,  it  is  no  secret  now;  there  is  to  be  a  change  of  command 
ers." 

"  I  have  seen  him  riding  in  his  coach,  and  I  cannot  bear  him," 
remarked    Hilda.     "I  think  Lord   Howe  is  much 
nicer  looking.     Ts  he  going,  too?" 

"  I  cannot  tell  yon.  But  you  have  heard  that 
General  Howe's  staff  officers  are  preparing  a  great 
farewell  demonstration?" 

"  Yes,  we  have  heard  rumors  of  a  gay  tourna 
ment  or  ball.  What  is  the  queer  name  they  call 
it  ?  " 

"The  '  Mischianza.'  It  is  a  Spanish  name,  I 
believe,  meaning  a  '  tilt '  or  '  tournament.'  Some  of 
the  officers  are  to  dress  in  fancy  pink  and  white 
trousers,  and  have  for  their  device  a  white  and  red 
rose,  and  call  themselves  '  Knights  of  the  Blended 
Rose."  Other  officers  are  to  wear  black  and  orange, 
and  they  will  call  themselves  '  Knights  of  the  Burning  Mountain/ 
as  that  is  their  device.  There  will  not  be  any  real  fighting,  you  may 
know;  there  will  be  some  peacefid  way  of  deciding  their  challenge  to 
each  other,  and  nobody's  feelings  will  be  hurt.  Tt  will  have  no  interest 
for  me,  except  as  a  pretty  sight.  I  will  tell  you  all  about  it  afterward, 
if  you  will  allow  me.  Now,  Jerusha,  I  have  been  waiting  for  you 
to  come  and  tell  me  what  to  do  next." 

"  You'll  have  to  make  a  scar  about  as  long  as  my  thumb  nail  on 
that  right  cheek-bone." 

Tbe  scar  and  otber  adjustments  were  successfully  portrayed. 
"When  at  last  the  picture  was  finished  and  put  into  the  frame,  newly 
gilded  for  this  purpose,  Jerusha  beamed  with  satisfaction.  "  It 
couldn't  ha'  been  better,  lieutenant.  So  life-like!  Many  folks  don't 
get  as  good  a  likeness  as  that  in  settiiv  for  their  real  portraits." 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE  67 


CHAPTER  XII. 

HILDA'S    BIRTHDAY. 

"  That  life  is  long  which  answers  life's  great  end." 

— Young. 

THE  twentieth  of  May,  two  days  after  the  great  tournament,  was 
Hilda's  birthday.  It  was  bright  and  beautiful,  and  roused  a  thrill 
of  hope  in  her  heart,  though  nothing  in  comparison  with  the  spring 
raptures  of  former  years. 

''Dear  child,"  said  her  aunt  Rachel,  "  the  house  affords  thee  only 
trifling  gifts  this  birthday;  but  thee  will  see  better  days,  I  trust,  and 
in  the  meantime  thee  has  our  love  and  full  assurance  of  our  delight 
in  thee." 

Edward  Love  had  gone  out  early  into  the  fields  for  wild  flowers. 
He  had  gathered  blossoms  daily  for  Hilda  since -their  first  appearance 
this  spring,  but  to-day  the  supply  had  to  be  more  abundant.  He  had, 
in  fact,  two  bouquets. 

"These  flowers,  Hilda."  he  said,  handing  her  one  bunch,  "I 
picked  for  Richard's  sake,  doing  what  he  would  do  if  he  were  here; 
and  these,"  giving  her  the  other  bunch,  "  shall  speak  for  me  and  tell 
thee  how  gladly  I  would  enrich  thy  life  if  I  could." 

"  Thee  has  enriched  it  always,  Cousin  Edward,  in  ways  that  I  can 
never  show  thee.  These  flowers  are  so  sweet  and  beautiful  that  they 
make  me  sad.  It  seems  that  spring  ought  not  to  come  till  we  are 
ready  to  be  glad  with  it." 

"  Nature  could  not  afford  to  wait,  Hilda.  The  good  Lord  is  mak 
ing  earth  beautiful  again,  and  it  is  man's  privilege  to  enjoy  it.  Let 
us  enjoy  what  we  may;  life  comes  easier  so." 

Memories  of  the  past  surged  through  Hilda's  mind  that  day, 
and  for  a  time  the  present  was  forgotten.  She  seemed  to  be  more 
with  Richard:  his  face  was  before  her,  his  voice  was  in  her  ear.  He 
seemed  to  lie  saying  again  the  words  of  that  memorable  April  even 
ing.  "  These  flowers  have  magical  charms;  when  they  have  told  their 
secret  thev  will  fade."  For  the  first  time  in  more  than  three  years 


68  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

she  fastened  the  silver  buckle  in  the  soft  muslin  tucker  of  her  gown 
that  afternoon.  It  seemed  to  her  as  if  she  had  had  it  for  ages,  or  as 
if  her  aunt  Rachel  had  given  it  to  a  different  Hilda  from  the  one  that 
now  possessed  it. 

In  the  afternoon  Lieutenant  Raymond  knocked  at  the  front  door, 
and  when  Jerusha  answered  the  summons  he  asked  for  '•  Miss 
Sedgeley."  Jerusha  was  surprised,  for  he  had  never  called  in  the 
daytime  except  when  he  was  painting  the  portrait,  and  he  had  iK-ver 
tried  to  see  Hilda  alone.  Jerusha  was  so  awed  by  the  formality  of 
this  visit  that  without  a  word  she  showed  the  lieutenant  into  the 
parlor. 

Rachel  Fuller  made  no  comment  upon  the  announcement,  "  Lieu 
tenant  Raymond's  in  the  parlor,  and  he  wants  to  see  Hilda,  and  he 
looks  as  if  somethin'  had  happened.'' 

"  Good  afternoon,  Miss  Sedgeley/'  said  the  lieutenant,  as  she 
entered  the  room;  "  you  seem  to  have  a  festive  air  about  you.  The 
effect  is  charming,  I  assure  you;  though  your  effects  are  always  charm- 
ing." 

"Please  don't,  Lieutenant  Raymond;  you  know  I  am  not  used  to 
such  compliments.  I  don't  know  how  to  answer  them,  as  society 
ladies  do,  so  you  have  me  at  a  disadvantage.  T  am  a  little  gay  to-day, 
for  it  is  my  birthday,  and  I  am  sort  of  playing  by  myself,  as  a  child 
does  sometimes." 

"Your  birthday,  Miss  Sedgeley,"  he  repeated;  and  as  he  looked 
at  her  his  color  deepened.  He  paused  a  moment,  and  then  said: 
"  What  a  happy  coincidence!  I  have  something  to  tell  you,  besides 
describing  the  '  Mischianza,'  but  first  allow  me  to  wish  you  many  happy 

1     •      i  1  .   1  »J  *  *  -I    1   * 

birthdays. 

•'  Thank  you,  lieutenant;  if  good  wishes  have  power.  I  need  not 
fear  the  future,  thanks  to  my  friends." 

"  I  came  to  tell  you  what  my  heart  bids  me  say,  but  T  did  not 
dream  that  the  hour  would  be  so  auspicious.  Hilda,''  he  said,  draw 
ing  his  chair  close,  and  taking  her  hand,  "  I  have  tried  more  than  once 
to  show  my  feeling  for  you,  but  you  seemed  not  to  notice.  Xo\v  T 
must  speak  plainly,  for  I  have  learned  to  love  you  so  that  I  can  no 
longer  be  silent.  I  can  satisfy  your  relatives  as  to  my  home  and  my 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  69 

character,  I  am  perfectly  free  to  offer  you  my  love,  and  I  ask  you  to 
accept  it.  Does  not  your  heart  bid  you  say  '  yes '  ?  " 

As  she  did  not  speak  he  continued.  "  This  war  need  be  no  obsta 
cle  to  our  happiness.  I  would  not  ask  you  to  leave  your  home  now, 
but  will  you  not  allow  me.  to  hope  that  when  the  war  is  over  I  may 
come  for  you?  Hilda,  let  my  cause  be  strengthened  by  this  voice 
from  the  past,"  and  he  drew  from  his  waistcoat  an  ornament  attached 
to  his  watchguard  and  held  it  toward  her — the  silver  buckle. 

With  a  cry  she  sprang  to  her  feet,  grasping  the  buckle  with  trem 
bling  fingers. 

"  Dear  Hilda,  do  not  let  this  frighten  you.  I  had  no  expectation 
of  finding  its  counterpart  when  I  came  into  this  house  to-day.  I  came 
to  tell  you  of  my  love;  my  affections  were  given  you  long  before  I  saw 
the  buckle  on  your  gown.  But  when  I  saw  it  my  heart  leaped,  for  I 
felt  that  Fortune  had  '  come  with  both  hands  full.' " 

She  loosened  her  buckle,  and  placed  it  by  the  other,  to  examine 
them  closely.  The  tracery  of  the  ivy  and  oak  leaves  was  similar;  the 
date,  1660,  was  on  each;  on  hers  were  the  words,  "  Fortis,  Fidelis; "  on 
his  was  the  completion  of  the  motto,  "  Felix." 

Hilda  felt  dizzy.  "  0,  Lieutenant  Raymond,"  she  exclaimed,  "  I 
have  not  thought  of  you  in  this  way." 

"  Xo,  dearest,  but  does  the  thought  seem  disagreeable  now?  Is 
there  any  reason  why  I  could  not  win  your  love?  Will  you  not  let  me 
try?  My  feelings  toward  you  will  never  change.  I  consider  myself 
pledged  to  you,  but  you  are  still  free.  You  have  been  too  suddenly 
surprised.  Do  not  answer  me  to-night,  only  say  that  I  may  come 
again, — let  me  come  often,  as  a  familiar  friend,  with  the  hope  that 
your  heart  will  incline  toward  me — that  you  will  bless  the  Providence 
that  has  brought  us  together — that  you  will  accept  this  silver  buckle 
as  a  happy  omen.  Shall  I  leave  you  now,  and  come  again  to-morrow 
evening?" 

"  Yes,"  she  answered  faintly. 

He  rose  at  once.  "Good-bye,  sweetheart,"  he  said,  and,  kissing 
her  hand,  he  left  the  house.  Hilda  replaced  her  buckle,  and  went  to 
her  room  as  one  walking  in  sleep.  She  did  not  know  her  own  heart. 

When  she  was  herself  again  she  went  down  stairs  thinking  tea 


70  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

must  be  ready.  She  found  her  Aunt  Rachel  waiting,  for  Cousin  Ed 
ward  had  not  yet  come. 

"  Strange  what  keeps  him,"  said  Rachel  Fuller,  anxiously. 

"  If  he  don't  come  soon,"  said  Jerusha,  "  I'll  run  round  to  the 
shop  and  see  if  he's  extra  busy.  If  he'd  been  took  sick  the  clerk 
would  'a  come  round  and  told  us." 

The  anxiety  deepened,  and  at  last  Jerusha  went  to  the  shop,  and 
came  back  breathless,  attended  by  the  clerk. 

"  Mr.  Love  left  the  shop  at  four  o'clock,"  the  clerk  said,  "  to  take 
a  littte  walk.  He  had  just  been  chatting  awhile  with  that  Lieutenant 
Raymond,  and  had  fitted  a  key  to  his  watch.  He  was  just  as  usual  all 
day,  but  looked  a  little  pale  when  he  left,  I  thought,  and  seemed  to 
lean  a  little  harder  on  his  cane." 

In  that  instant  Hilda  knew  that  her  cousin  had  seen  the  silver 
buckle  on  the  lieutenant's  watchguard,  and  had  been  disturbed  by  it. 
Where  was  he  now?" 

After  a  hurried  consultation  as  to  where  he  should  be  sought, 
they  ran  to  the  houses  of  friends,  but  in  vain.  It  was  almost  dark 
when  one  of  the  neighbors  suggested  that  they  should  put  Fido  on 
the  scent  for  him,  so  the  faithful  dog  was  called  into  service. 

And  where  was  Edward  Love?  That  afternoon  when  he  had 
recognized  the  silver  buckle  he  had  made  no  sign.  The  lieutenant 
did  not  know  that  the  buckle  had  aroused  any  emotions;  the  clerk 
had  heard  nothing.  What  Edward's  feelings  were  may  be  imagined. 
His  great  love  for  Richard,  his  conviction  that  Richard  loved  Hilda, 
his  knowledge  of  Hilda's  superstitious  feelings  about  the  buckle,  all 
combined  to  make  the  sudden  revelation  of  the  afternoon  well-nigh 
intolerable.  As  soon  as  he  could  he  left  the  shop,  and  turned  his 
steps  toward  Christ  Church,  his  favorite  resting-place  at  this  hour, 
when  the  organist  was  generally  practicing.  He  entered,  but  did  not 
go  near  the  organ  loft,  as  he  had  usually  done  before,  but  sat  down 
in  a  distant  pew,  where  he  remained  unobserved.  He  was  gathering 
courage  to  face  an  impending  sorrow. 

0,  gentle,  loving  heart,  who  shall  say  what  thoughts  visited  thoe 
that  bright  spring  afternoon,  in  thy  beloved  church,  when  the  silence 
was  broken  only  by  the  organ's  solemn  music!  Did  thy  youth  come 


A  corner  of  Christ  Church. 


't2  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

back  again,  with  its  hopes  and  ambitions?  Didst  thou  dwell  once 
more  in  thy  early  home  in  beautiful  England:'  Did  the  disappoint 
ment  of  thy  married  life  press  more  closely  on  thy  tired  heart,  making 
thee  more  conscious  of  the  mockery  of  thy  love's  young  dream?  Were 
thy  physical  sufferings  more  acute  by  reason  of  thy  mental  anguish? 
Did  thy  present  sorrow  overwhelm  thee,  whispering  with  phantom 
voice,  "  Lo,  thy  life's  evening  is  to  be  cold  and  gray?  ''  Or  did  the 
hallowed  influences  of  the  place  reassure  thee,  saying,  "'  Thy  strength 
shall  be  as  thy  days?  " 

Hilda,  Jerusha,  the  clerk,  and  two  or  three  neighbors  were  led 
to  the  church  door  by  the  sagacious  dog,  who  would  not  be  diverted 
from  his  course.  The  sexton  was  quickly  summoned,  a  lantern  was 
lighted,  the  door  was  opened,  and  there  they  found  him,  sitting  cold 
and  still.  The  troubled  child  had  found  everlasting  peace  in  his 
Father's  house. 

The  dreadful  shock  to  Hilda's  young  life,  and  the  loss  of  her 
dear  companion  and  counsellor,  were  intensified  by  the  certainty  that 
he  had  suffered  because  of  her.  She  spoke  of  it  to  no  one  at  that 
time,  and  no  one  suspected  it.  Rachel  Fuller  did  not  dream  that  the 
lieutenant  possessed  the  talisman  that  would  influence  Hilda;  the  clerk 
knew  nothing  about  the  buckle:  the  lieutenant  knew  nothing  of 
Richard:  Hilda  alone  comprehended  the  situation.  For  days  she  was 
nervous  and  feverish,  seeing  no  one  except  her  aunt  Rachel,  Cassie, 
and  Jerusha. 

Before  she  gathered  strength  to  come  down  stairs  again,  the  Brit 
ish  army  had  left  Philadelphia,  and"  American  troops,  led  by  General 
Arnold,  had  taken  possession  of  the  city. 

Lieutenant  Raymond  had  paid  a  farewell  visit  to  Rachel  Fuller, 
leaving  this  note  for  Hilda. 

MY  DEAREST:— 

I  sympathize  too  sincerely  with  you  to  intrude  upon  your 
Grief.  Be  comforted.  If  you  will  accept  my  Love  you  will  have 
constant  Companionship  and  Devotion.  Together  we  will  Cherish 
the  Memory  of  the  One  who  is  gone.  When  the  War  is  over  I 
will  come  for  my  Answer. 

Yours  in   life  and  death, 
17   June,    1778.  GEORGE  RAYMOND. 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  73 


CHAPTER  XIII. 
FROM   CAMP   TO   FIELD. 

"Posterity!  you  will  never  know  how  much  it  cost  the  present 
generation  to  preserve  your  freedom!  I  hope  you  will  make 
good  use  of  it.  If  you  do  not,  1  shall  repent  it  in  heaven  that  I 
ever  took  half  the  pains  to  preserve  it."— John  Adams. 

How  FARED  it  meanwhile  with  the  Continental  Army?  Did  the 
sweet  springtime  visit  the  vale  of  misery  and  suffering?  Yes,  thank 
heaven!  Gradually  the  bitter  winds  at  Valley  Forge  gave  place  to 
mild,  healing  breezes;  the  streams  resumed  their  wonted  courses;  the 
hard  earth  was  covered  with  a  soft  green  carpet,  most  grateful  to  the 
unshod  feet  that  had  left  blood-prints  upon  the  sharp,  frozen  ground; 
strengthening  herbs  sprang  up  side  by  side  with  wild  flowers;  the  win 
ter  of  unparalleled  suffering,  self-sacrifice,  and  heroism  became,  at  last, 
to  the  eleven  thousand  survivors,  nothing  but  an  awful  memory. 

Early  in  May  the  camp  thrilled  with  new  life  and  stronger  hope 
because  of  the  news  that  Erance  would  aid  their  cause.  General  Wash 
ington  ordered  the  chaplains  to  read  aloud  the  Treaty  of  Alliance  and 
to  offer  special  thanks  becaiise  there  had  been  "  raised  up  a  powerful 
friend  among  the  princes  of  the  earth."  The  troops  were  inspected 
and  reviewed,  and  then,  amid  the  noise  of  artillery  and  musketry,  went 
up  the  mighty  shout,  "  Long  live  the  King  of  France." 

The  troops  had  greatly  profited  by  the  careful  training  and  mili 
tary  discipline  introduced  some  weeks  before  by  Baron  Steuben,  and 
felt  more  confident  of  themselves.  So,  as  the  season  advanced,  they 
began  to  be  impatient  for  a  new  encounter  with  the  enemy.  This 
desire  was  strengthened  when  it  was  rumored  that  the  British  would 
ere  long  be  obliged  to  evacuate  Philadelphia,  as  General  Washington 
had  more  than  once  found  means  to  cut  off  their  supplies,  and  a  French 
fleet  would  soon  be  in  the  Delaware  and  hem  them  in  completely. 

The  departure  of  the  British  from  Philadelphia  has  already  been 
mentioned  in  connection  with  Lieutenant  Raymond.  Their  objective 
point  was  New  York,  in  order  to  unite  with  the  forces  then  in 


74  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

possession  of  that  city.  About  three  thousand  of  their  men  were  sent 
round  by  sea,  but  the  others  took  up  the  line  of  inarch. 

And  so  it  came  about  that  the  high  noon  of  June  18th,  1778,  and 
the  ten  succeeding  days  saw  a  strange  commotion  in  the  Province  of 
Xew  Jersey.  A  splendid  army,  more  than  ten  thousand  in  number, 
under  the  renowned  leaders,  Clinton,  C'ornwallis,  and  Knyphausen, 
moved  along  in  a  northeasterly  direction,  the  fine  uniforms  and  trap 
pings  making  a  brilliant  show  in  spite  of  the  clouds  of  dust  which 
filled  the  air;  and,  stretching  behind  it,  in  a  line  twelve  miles  long, 
were  the  baggage  wagons.  Then,  in  due  time,  another  army  rose  upon 
the  landscape.  It  had  inarched  northward  from  Valley  Forge,  it  had 
crossed  the  Delaware  above  Trenton,  it  watched  the  British  troops, 
it  more  than  once  retarded  their  march.  So,  the  two  great  hostile 
forces  moved  along,  each  mindful  of  the  other. 

At  Hopewell,  near  Princeton,  General  Washington  called  a  coun 
cil  of  war.  "  Generals,"  said  he,  "  the  British  are  at  Allen  Town.  Our 
detachments  have  harrassed  them;  they  regard  us  as  a  formidable  host, 
for  they  have  changed  their  course  and  are  taking  the  Monmouth 
Road,  doubtless  with  the  intention  of  reaching  Sandy  Hook  as  speed 
ily  as  possible.  The  conditions  seem  to  me  favorable  for  making  a 
general  attack.  What  do  you  think,  gentlemen?" 

"  I  believe  it  could  be  easily  planned  and  successfully  carried 
out,  General,"  said  Greene. 

"  I  think  your  Excellency's  judgment  is  good,"  said  Lafayette. 

"  I  am  eager  to  attack  them,"  said  Wayne. 

"I  think,  General,"  said  Cadwalader,  "that  we  might  strike  a 
blow  that  would  greatly  injure  them." 

"  General,  it  cannot  be  done  with  any  chance  of  success,"  said 
Lee.  "  The  armies  are  too  nearly  equal  in  numbers  for  us  to  hope 
for  advantage  in  the  open  field.  Consider  how  it  was  at  the  Brandy- 
wine  and  at  Germantown.  This  would  be  but  a  repetition  of  those 
disasters." 

"  Our  men  are  in  better  condition  now,  and  are  more  easily  di 
rected,  thanks  to  you,  Baron  Steuben,"  said  General  Washington. 

"  Their  training  has  not  been  tested  upon  the  battlefield,"  an 
swered  Lee.  "If  the  British  defeat  us  now,  they  would  leave  us 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  75 

exhausted,  while  they,  hurrying  away,  would  unite  with  their  New 
York  forces  and  could  strike  a  decisive  blow  before  we  had  recovered." 

General  Washington  proceeded  to  detail  some  plans  that  he 
thought  would  render  the  attack  successful;  but  so  hot  was  Lee  in  his. 
opposition  that  most  of  the  other  officers,  except  those  who  had  al 
ready  expressed  themselves  in  favor  of  it,  gave  voice  against  the  attack, 
and  the  council  broke  up.  Afterward,  however,  Lafayette,  Greene, 
and  Wayne  sent  in  written  remonstrances  ^against  the  decision,  and 
General  Washington  announced  that  he  would  "  move  on  and  be  gov 
erned  by  circumstances." 

Both  armies  moved  forward.  On  Saturday  evening,  the  twenty- 
seventh  of  June,  they  encamped  within  six  miles  of  each  other,  the 
British  variously  disposed  near  Monmouth  Court-House,  and  the 
Americans  west  of  English  Town,  with  advanced  detachments  under 
Lee  nearer  to  the  enemy.  Lee  had  at  first  begged  to  be  excused  from 
this  appointment,  and  General  Washington  had  placed  Lafayette  in 
charge.  Later,  however,  Lee  had  asked  for  the  place,  and  Lafayette 
had  generously  yielded  and  taken  the  second  command.  Lee  had 
under  him  five  thousand  men,  and  some  of  the  bravest  officers.  Gen 
eral  Washington  had  given  them  orders  to  "  lose  no  fair  opportunity 
for  an  attack." 

The  night  was  oppressively  hot;  the  day  had  been  sultry;  showers 
had  fallen,  but  without  any  cooling  effect;  the  ground  seemed  to 
steam.  Many  of  the  soldiers  had  been  prostrated,  some  had  died. 

Midnight  brought  a  slight  relief,  but  with  the  earliest  ray  of 
dawn  it  became  evident  that  the  heat  of  the  new  day  would  be  of 
awful  intensity.  Nature  was  in  a  malevolent  mood,  and  seemed  to  be 
showing  how  cruel  she  can  sometimes  be  to  man.  And  on  that  hot, 
sickening,  Sunday  morning  man  should  have  relaxed  his  efforts  and 
rested  from  his  labors;  but  he  did  not.  His  hand  was  lifted  against 
his  brother. 

On  that  day  was  fought  what  is  known  in  history  as  the  battle 
of  Monmouth.  It  was  the  strangest  battle  of  the  Revolution.  It  might 
so  easily  have  been  made  the  decisive,  conclusive  battle,  but  it  was  not. 
Nowhere  did  men  perform  more  daring  deeds,  yet  nothing  material  was 
gained.  The  vacillation  of  the  irritable,  jealous  Lee  rendered  fruit 
less  the  best  efforts  of  the  Americans.  He  neglected  to  concentrate 


?6  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

his  troops,  he  took  no  proper  advantage  of  opportunities,  though  re 
peatedly  urged  to  do  so  by  Wayne  and  Lafayette;  nor  did  he  send  any 
messages  to  the  main  army  beyond  English  Town. 

Two  slight  skirmishes  occurred  in  the  early  morning,  when  the 
British  took  up  the  line  of  march.  A  third  and  serious  one  began 
about  eleven  o'clock,  in  the  course  of  which  the  advance  guards  of 
the  British,  a  mile  distant,  wheeled  about  and  began  to  retrace  their 
steps  toward  the  scene  of  action.  Lee,  suddenly  seeing  his  men  in  a 
dangerous  situation,  gave  orders  to  retreat.  The  men,  weary  with 
hours  of  marching  and  countermarching,  parched  with  thirst,  weak 
ened  by  loss  of  hope,  retreated  rapidly  across  the  bridge  over  the 
ravine  at  the  west  of  the  field,  Lee  bringing  up  the  rear. 

Meanwhile,  General  Washington,  a  few  miles  distant,  hearing  the 
heavy  cannonading,  knew  that  a  battle  was  in  progress;  and,  though 
he  had  received  from  Lee  no  request  for  reinforcements,  he  set  out 
with  the  whole  army.  Ever  and  anon,  as  the  eager  columns  pushed 
forward  under  the  hot  noonday  sun,  through  shifting  sand  and  chok 
ing  dust,  they  heard  the  roar  of  artillery,  and  they  thought  of  vic 
tory.  But  what  was  their  dismay  when  they  received  news  that  Lee's, 
forces  were  in  full  retreat,  with  the  British  in  pursuit!  Then  they 
met  the  first  of  the  fugitives,  who  were  not  able  to  give  any  account 
of  the  action,  nor  any  reason  for  the  retreat.  Washington,  frenzied 
with  anger,  called  a  halt,  and,  spurring  his  white  horse  onward,  de 
scended  like  a  thunderbolt  upon  Lee.  "  Sir,  in  the  name  of  heaven, 
what  does  this  mean?  " 

"  Sir — sir,"  stammered  Lee,  beginning  some  excuse. 

"Will  you  take  command  of  these  men?"  interrupted  Washing 
ton,  "  and  check  the  enemy,  if  I  form  the  line  of  battle?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Lee,  stung  to  fury,  "  and  T  will  not  be  the  first  to 
leave  the  field." 

From  point  to  point  galloped  the  commander-in-chief,  giving  the 
necessary  orders,  while  the  troops,  infused  with  new  spirit,  shouted, 
"Long  live  Washington."  He  drew  the  men  into  line,  he  wheeled 
them  around,  and  Lee  led  them  forward,  while  Washington  went  back 
and  brought  up  the  main  army. 

Then  the  battle  became  furious.  The  British  grenadiers  bore 
down  with  tremendous  force  upon  the  central  column  under  Wayne; 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  7? 

the  right  wing  under  Greene  was  hard  pressed;  the  deadly  cannon 
ading  of  Knyphausen  responded  promptly  to  the  cannonading  of  Stir 
ling  and  Knox.  The  roar  of  the  battle  was  heard  for  many  miles, 
the  whole  plain  shook  with  the  force  of  the  conflict.  But,  little  by 
little,  inch  by  inch,  step  by  step,  the  Continental  Army  forced  the 
British  backward  a  short  distance,  and  the  darkness  of  night  merci 
fully  stayed  the  strife.  Within  sight  of  each  other,  resting  upon  their 
arms,  Americans  and  British  laid  down  upon  the  battlefield. 

Among  the  prostrate  forms  were  many  dead  and  dying.  Some 
of  the  dying  were  horribly  conscious  of  their  sufferings,  others  were 
in  a  blissful  stupor.  Near  to  a  young  man  whose  lifeblood  was  slowly 
but  surely  ebbing  from  a  ghastly  wound,  and  who,  from  the  moment 
of  his  fall,  had  been  keenly  sensible  of  his  martyrdom,  was  a  form 
that  had  lain  rigid  for  hours.  But  life  had  not  really  left  him,  and 
at  last  he  began  to  relax  and  show  other  hopeful  signs.  He  rubbed 
his  face,  he  stretched  his  arms,  he  raised  himself  to  a  sitting  posture, 
he  drew  up  his  knees,  and,  putting  his  elbows  upon  them,  rested  his 
head  upon  his  hands. 

The  terrible  weakness  of  a  gradual  return  to  consciousness  after 
a  long  period  of  insensibility  can  hardly  be  understood  by  those  who 
have  not  had  such  an  experience. 

After  a  time  the  man,  trying  thus  to  rally  his  forces,  became 
aware  of  the  sufferer  beside  him.  He  bent  toward  him  and  managed 
to  say,  though  his  throat  was  parched  and  his  lips  were  blistered,  "  Did 
you  speak  to  me?  " 

"  Yes,"  answered  the  other  faintly,  "  I  have  been  longing  to 
speak,  but  there  seemed  to  be  no  one  to  listen.  I  cannot  see  whether 
you  are  one  of  us  or  not." 

"  I  am  an  American,"  answered  the  first  speaker. 

"  Then  we  have  been  against  each  other,  but  it  matters  little 
now." 

"  Who  has  the  field?"  asked  the  American. 

"  I  cannot  tell.  I  think  your  troops.  Will  you  take  a  trust  from 
me  and  fulfill  it  as  you  hope  for  mercy  in  your  dying  moments?  Oh! 
water,  water,"  he  moaned. 

"  Yes,  water,"  echoed  the  American;  "  I  must  try  to  find  some." 
6 


80  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

frightened,  they  ran  to  the  kitchen  and  were  astonished  to  see  the 
usually  imperturbable  Jerusha  laughing  hysterically,  with  tears  rolling 
down  her  cheeks  and  both  hands  uplifted  to  push  aside  John  Peters, 
who  was  flourishing  a  large  tin  dipper  full  of  water,  and  trying  to 
induce  her  to  take  a  drink. 

"  1  come  in  too  sudden, — give  her  a  kind  o'  turn,"  said  John,  by 
way  of  explanation. 

"  1  know  she  is  glad  to  see  thee,  John  Peters,  and  so  am  I,"  said 
Rachel,  shaking  hands  with  him  heartily. 

"  John  Peters,"  said  Hilda,  grasping  both  his  hands,  for  Jerusha 
had  recovered  her  composure  and  taken  the  dipper  from  him,  "  it  is 
just  good  to  see  you.  But  how  did  you  get  here?  " 

''  1  thought  it  was  one  o'  them  Injuns  rushin'  in,"  said  Jerusha. 
"  I  know'd  it  couldn't  be  anybody  belongin'  to  the  city,  a  pouncin'  in 
in  such  a  heathen  way." 

"  Xo,"  said  John,  loudly  and  emphatically,  "  it's  somebody  be 
long-in'  to  the  country,  and  somebody  who  likes  the  country  so  much 
that  he's  goin'  to  stay  in  the  country,  and  not  go  roamin'  round  with 
soldiers  no  more." 

"  Why,  John,  has  thee  come  home  to  stay?  "  asked  Rachel  Fuller. 

"Yes,  I've  come  home  to  stay.  My  time  was  up  again  in  the 
army,  and  I  just  said  to  myself,  l  John  Peters,  don't  yon  go  and  re- 
enlist  as  you  done  before.  There'll  be  a  famine  if  some  men  don't  go 
bark  to  the  farms  and  raise  decent  crop?.'  So  home  I  come.  My 
farm's  been  idle  for  three  years,  but  I'm  goin'  to  do  some  tremendous 
work  on  it,  and  have  big  crops  next  season,  and  the  soldiers  is  goin' 
to  get  the  best  o'  them." 

"House  must  need  a  lot  o'  cleanin,  bein'  shut  up  so  long,"  said 
Jerusha. 

"  Tt  may  need  it,  but  it  won't  get  it,"  said  John. 

"A  heathen  way  to  live,"  muttered  Jerusha,  "but  good  enough 
for  the  beatben  country." 

"  Toll  u?  something  about  tbe  war.  John,"  said  Hilda. 

"  T  can't  tell  you  anything  more  than  you  know  already.  Tt'? 
beon  a  month  since  T  quit,  but  T  oomo  borne  slow,  for  T  was  sick  ovor 
yonder  in  the  Jerseys.  I  ain't  seen  Richard  Thorpe  nor  Josiah  Lake 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  81 

since  we  broke  up  camp  at  Valley  Forge,  for  1  was  changed  to  a  differ 
ent  company." 

"  But,  John,  tell  us  some  stories  about  the  war;  tell  us  some  of 
the  things  you  have  seen  and  heard,"  said  Hilda. 

"1  won't  tell  nothin',"  said  John,  decidedly,  "for  it'  1  did  you'd 
be  sittin1  do\vn  picturin'  things  to  yourself,  and  there  ain't  not  bin* 
pleasant  about  war.  1  don't  see  why  folks  should  talk  for  the  sake  o' 
talkin'  unless  they're  talkin'  o'  somethin'  pleasant." 

"  Does  thee  know  of  our  loss,  John?"  asked  Rachel. 

"Yes,"  said  he,  with  a  slight  approach  to  gentleness  of  tone.  "  I 
passed  the  shop  on  my  way  here,  and  I  stopped  in  and  heard  all  about 
it.  And  I  tell  you  what,  Miss  Rachel,"  and  his  tone  gradually  re 
sumed  its  wonted  strength,  "  I'm  a  comin'  to  town  frequent  to  look 
in  on  ye,  to  see  what  ye  need,  for  no  house  can  get  along  all  times 
without  a  man.  And  whenever  ye  need  me,  just  speak.  Will  ye?  " 

He  might  have  been  threatening  to  take  her  life,  if  one  judged 
merely  by  his  tone  and  attitude,  but  Rachel  Fuller  had  known  John 
Peters  too  long  to  doubt  his  honest  kindness  now.  "  Thank  thee, 
John,  thank  thee;  we  shall  look  to  thee  if  we  need  a  man's  help.  And 
if  we  can  help  thee,  thee  must  let  us  know.  '  Turn  about  is  fair  play,' 
thee  knows." 

"  Well,  I'm  ste'ppin',"  said  he,  "  but  ye'll  see  me  again.  Good 
bye,"  and  he  went  out  like  a  whirlwind. 

During  the  next  two  months  he  came  frequently,  sometimes  stay 
ing  only  a  few  minutes,  sometimes  an  hour.  Jerusha  went  on  with 
her  work  regardless  of  his  presence,  or  else  she  made  him  lend  assist 
ance  in  various  ways,  "  to  teach  him,"  as  she  said,  "  how  to  do  for 
himself  on  that  heathen  farm." 

"Jerusha,"  said  Hilda,  one  day,  "don't  you  like  John  Peters  a 
good  deal  better  than  you  used  to?" 

"Humph!"  was  the  answer,  "when  people  do  their  work  thor 
ough  and  keep  busy,  they've  no  time  to  set  chewin'  over  likes  and  dis 
likes." 

"  P)iit  don't  you  think  he  is  a  real  good  man  and  a  good  farmer?  " 

"  Well,  he  ain't  so  terrible  bad." 

"  Don't  you  think  lie  would  be  a  good  husband  to  a  capable,  in 
dustrious  woman?" 


84  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

GRAY   AND   GOLD. 

"  Oh,  Angel  of  the  East,  one,  one  gold  look 

Across  the  waters  to  this  twilight  nook, — 
The  far  sad  waters,  Angel,  to  this  nook!" 

— Robert  Broicninff. 

THE  hearty  satisfaction  and  the  quiet  humor  felt  by  Hilda  Sedge- 
ley  at  the  courtship  and  marriage  of  John  and  Jerusha  acted  as  a 
wholesome  tonic  for  her  depressed  spirits.  She  had  a  real  affection 
for  the  honest  maid-servant,  whose  relation  to  the  members  of  Rachel 
Fuller's  family  was  much  less  formal  than  that  existing  between  ser 
vants  and  the  families  of  "  world's  "  people.  Hilda  entered  eagerly 
into  the  preparations  for  the  wedding  and  the  removal  to  Jerusha's 
new  home,  and  even  beguiled  Jerusha  into  a  little  mirth.  But  after 
Jerusha's  departure  the  household  resumed  its  quiet  ways,  and  Hilda 
fell  back  upon  the  train  of  thought  that  liad  followed  the  death  of 
Edward  Love. 

Constantly  mingled  with  the  memories  of  her  cousin  Edward 
came  thoughts  of  Richard  Thorpe.  The  sweet  friendship  with 
Richard,  founded  on  long  and  intimate  acquaintance,  seemed  to  have 
a  more  real  and  substantial  good  when  contrasted  with  her  present 
loneliness.  True,  she  thought  also  of  Lieutenant  Raymond,  for  whom 
she  had  a  strong  liking;  but  he  now  seemed  as  the  acquaintance  of  a 
week,  while  Richard  was  the  friend  of  years.  When  she  thought  of 
the  future,  Richard  was  a  figure  in  the  scene;  when  she  had  pleasant 
dreams,  Richard  was  by  her  side.  Should  she  regard  Lieutenant  Ray 
mond's  silver  buckle  as  an  omen  to  guide  her  future  conduct?  But 
again,  should  she  not  regard  her  cousin  Edward's  death,  her  subse 
quent  illness,  and  the  withdrawal  of  the  British,  as  friendly  interposi 
tions  warning  her  against  the  undue  influence  of  a  superstitious  fancy? 
She  did  not  often  receive  letters  from  Richard,  for  he  had  not  the 
pen  of  a  ready  writer,  and,  moreover,  the  post  was  not  a  sure  mean? 
of  communication.  But  every  letter  thai  she  did  receive  from  him 


THE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  85 

contained  assurances  of  his  unchanged  feelings  toward  her.  She 
sometimes  heard  indirectly  from  him  through  Josiah  Lake,  who  wrote 
to  Cassie  epistles  that  were  voluminous  in  comparison  with  those  of 
Richard.  Joe  wrote  long  accounts  of  the  war,  and  often  spoke  of 
Richard  as  "  the  best  of  fellows,"  at  which  praise  Hilda's  heart  burned 
within  her. 

Gradually  she  began  to  know  herself.  In  the  long,  monotonous 
months  that  followed,  she  had  full  time  to  question  her  heart  and  to 
find  its  answer.  This  certainty  brought  her  a  kind  of  rest,  but  no 
real  happiness.  For  Richard  was  far  away  in  the  South,  in  the  midst 
of  all  the  horrors  and  dangers  of  a  war  whose  end  was  still  far  dis 
tant.  Would  he  ever  come  again?  Should  she  ever  again  know  the 
sound  of  light  laughter  and  happy  voices?  It  seemed  to  her  that  she 
could  scarcely  remember  the  time  when  she  had  not  felt  the  dull 
heartache  that  now  possessed  her.  She  thought  of  her  former  self  a& 
one  thinks  of  a  little  friend  who  died  in  childhood.  So,  waiting 
bravely,  loving  faithfully,  hoping  patiently,  Hilda  spent  the  years, 
while  the  war  dragged  on  relentlessly. 

In  September,  1781,  excitement  was  again  rife  in  Philadelphia, 
for  the  American  troops  and  their  allies  were  concentrating  their 
forces  against  the  British  at  Yorktown.  The  month  that  followed 
was  a  time  of  terrible  suspense. 

"  What'll  we  do  if  the  British  come  to  Philadelphia  again?  "  asked 
Hannah  Lake,  with  awestruck  countenance. 

"  0,  Hannah,  don't  speak  of  it,"  said  Hilda,  rushing  out  of  the 
room. 

"  It  seems  to  me,"  said  Rachel  Fuller  one  day  to  Susan  Walton, 
"that  I  have  never  felt  so  far  away  from  England  as  I  do  this  day, 
and  I  cannot  explain  the  feeling.  The  graves  of  my  loved  ones  there 
seem  now  to  be  in  a  strange  country.  This  unlawful  war  has  made 
between  us  a  breach  more  formidable  than  the  Atlantic  Ocean." 

"  Yes,  Rachel,"  answered  Susan,  "  we  have  seen  sad  changes.  In 
spite  of  all  the  blessings  and  comforts  I  have  enjoyed  in  this  land,  I 
have  never  been  without  a  slight  feeling  of  homesickness  for  the  old 
country." 

"I  have  often  thought,  Susan,  that  after  one  is  twenty-five  years 
old,  no  decided  change  can  be  made  in  the  mode  of  life  without  leav- 


88  THE  SILVER  BUCKLE. 

A  man  turns  the  corner  of  the  street,  and  Hilda  listlessly  wonders 
who  he  is,  though  she  does  not  really  care.  But  suddenly  the  stars 
seem  to  dance  before  her  eyes,  the  light  grows  more  brilliant,  her 
pulse  leaps  more  wildly,  she  feels  hot,  though  standing  in  the  chilly 
air.  The  man  stops  in  front  of  her. 

"Richard  Thorpe!''  she  exclaims,  and  holds  out  both  hands, 
trembling. 

"  Hilda,  dearest  Hilda,"  he  murmurs,  clasping  her  hands  and  kiss 
ing  them. 

She  led  him  into  the  parlor,  and,  as  they  sat  down  side  by  side,, 
she  said,  "  Has  Joe  Lake  come,  too? '' 

<k  Yes,  he  is  with  (Jassie  now.  What  an  age  it  is,  Hilda,  since  we 
sat  here  that  April  night  when  I  gave  you  the  blossoms!  Do  you  re 
member?  " 

"  I  remember  it  well,  Richard.  I  was  glad  that  the  hard  winter 
was  over;  I  said  that  the  time  for  the  singing  of  birds  had  come,  but 
a  moment  later  Jo  brought  news  of  the  battle,  and  that  changed  every 
thing.  Perhaps  the  birds  have  sung  since  then,  but  they  have  not 
sung  to  me." 

"  Xor  to  me  either,  Hilda.  I  have  been  hearing  the  song  of  bul 
lets  and  the  cry  of  suffering.  But  the  hope  of  winning  you,  Hilda, 
has  buoyed  me  up  even  in  moments  of  greatest  struggle.  Over  and 
over  again  T  have  pictured  myself  coming  to  you  for  the  answer  to 
my  question  of  that  April  night.  And.  sweetheart,  T  am  doubly 
strengthened  to  plead  my  cause  with  you  now,  for  fortune  has  given 
me  this — the  silver  buckle/' 

"Richard,  Richard,"  she  said,  impulsively  throwing  her  arm? 
around  his  neck.  "  you  did  not  need  this,  for  my  answer  has  long  been 
ready." 

"  But  it  satisfies  your  heart  to  have  this  buckle,  does  it  not?  "  he 
asked. 

"  Yes:  but  how  did  you  get  it.  Richard?  " 

"\Vith  his  arm  around  her  and  her  head  upon  his  shoulder,  he  told 
her  of  the  dying  man  who  lay  beside  him  on  the  field  of  Monmonth, 
and  she  told  him  the  whole  story  of  Lieutenant  Raymond.  "  Richard." 
sbe  said,  in  conclusion,  "  T  cannot  help  grieving  for  him.  It  is  always- 
sad  to  lose  a  friend,  but  to  lose  him  in  that  way  is  terrible." 


TILE  SILVER  BUCKLE.  89 

"  Sweetheart,  I  should  think  it  strange  if  you  did  not  show  sor 
row  for  his  loss." 

"  It  was  a  long  time,  Richard/'  she  said,  after  a  pause,  "  before  I 
understood  myself,  but  at  last  1  knew  that  I  could  never  accept  the 
buckle  from  him." 

"  Ihit  you  are  glad  that  I  have  it  to  give  to  you,  are  you  not, 
Hilda?" 

"  Yes,  Richard,  1  am  glad  and  thankful.  It  seems  like  the  hand 
of  Providence  lifted  to  bless  us.  Fortis — h'delis — ,"  she  said  softly, 
looking  at  him  lovingly. 

"'  Felix."  he  added,  rapturously. 

A  little  later  in  the  autumn  Cassie  and  Joe,  Hilda  and  Richard 
went  to  the  farm  of  John  Peters  to  gather  nuts.  They  gathered  also 
some  beautiful  leaves,  which  were  carefully  pressed,  and  were  after 
ward  used  to  trim  Rachel  Fuller's  parlor  for  a  happy  wedding.  And 
on  a  beautiful  Indian  summer  afternoon,  in  the  year  1783,  the  Rev 
erend  William  White,  the  beloved  rector  of  Christ  Church,  united  in 
marriage  Hilda  Sedgeley  and  Richard  Thorpe. 


FINIS. 


A     000153342     1 


i 


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